It is Always Dark Before the Dawn
by SingfortheMoment333
Summary: Harry Potter enters the wizarding world unaware of the dangers that lurk beneath the surface. Struggling in class, he can barely make a feather float, how can he fulfill the destiny everyone expects of him from this? His only hope in tipping the balance in his favor is to delve in the more esoteric magics. With a Harry Potter focused on divination, mind magic and necromancy.
1. Prologue

**-Prologue**

**AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, and I need a beta. If anyone likes this maybe, we will get past chapter 5. This story Idea that I have is a Harry who is not good at wand magic but excels at esoteric magic, namely divination, enchanting, necromancy, and blood magic. He will never be able to stand toe to toe with Tom Riddle or even Snape as a duelist, he will never be able to transfigure like McGonagall or even Cedric. This will be a story with Harry in more of a supportive role but will have to defeat Tom Riddle. The first and last chapter of each segment of the story will be told by a perspective other than Harry. These chapters will always be marked with Prologue and Epilogue. Please tell me if you are interested in being my beta, please!**

* * *

The wind howled outside the window, the gentle pattering against the roof of the tower as if the sky wept. The world outside ripped apart as lightning circled all around. A venerable man sat upon a throne-like chair, alone with his reflections. Alone with his ever-crushing hopes, his eternal sorrow. The ages passed away, bringing with it the departure from auburn to grey to white, yet despite the change on the surface, he was consistently a failure. Another crack followed harboring more light to the candlelit chamber, his powerful companion of 35 years remaining on his desk.

The wind blew and the rain fell.

Albus Dumbledore was a man of regret, constantly living in the past. A life where every decision he made had brought forth the worst results, yet people proceeded to make him shape and decide the world. Always hailing him as a great man. He wasn't a great man, undoubtedly a great wizard, but not a great man. It had only been three years prior that Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot Anthony Addington had stepped down and offered the prestigious post to him. The campaign was run essentially non-opposed despite the wizard's lack of passion for the position. For his passion had always been teaching, followed closely by Transfiguration, with ancient lore coming in a distant third. If the rumors were to be believed Silvain Boisselot was to be stepping down from his office as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW the next year and was jockeying for Albus to fill that role.

Why was the world always put upon his shoulders, Albus missed the days before his old friend's folly, back when he could freely explore his craft and share its gift amongst the young of the world. The hours passed as the pensive man looked at the future, its appearance not unlike the world outside. A turbulent storm threatening to rip apart even the foundation of the earth. It all came down to one former student, as before it came from one former friend, the problems of Britain and the larger wizarding world coming down to Albus's own mistakes and missteps. Of mishandlings and misunderstandings.

Voldemort.

It was a powerful name, it invoked fear and despair. He weaponized it, turning the name into a symbol of dread. A name that caused fear by only saying it, as if the action would summon the presence of the thing. And Voldemort could only be called a thing, formed of his former student Tom Riddle, twisted by rituals meant to invoke power not intended for this world, making pacts with infernal beast bending them to his will. He converted himself to a nexus of darkness. Eroding himself to become entry point for the shadow plane, likewise a gate leading to the Abyss, born of shadow. He was beyond saving, at this point only a leach sucking the energy of the world away, or a rat spreading its gruesome disease.

The wind howled, the sea buckled, the man was breaking.

As if the magic he controlled was not terrible enough, he had even more powerful magic at his disposal; pure, unbridled charisma, and a blazing intellect. As a boy he had noticed the inherent distrust of those of non-magical birth, questioning how they had come to be. He had found the answers, understood them and believed them, but also had an understanding that the question itself could become a weapon.

So, he did.

It had begun early, targeting his fellow students, whispering to them, telling sweet lies. By picking the right people, future journalist, politicians, influencers, and duelists he was able to change the whole of Great Britain. The years brought about a world of distrust for their fellow wizard for reasons outside their influence, but unlike Albus's former friend, Tom believed none of his propaganda. He only cared for the weapon that it provided.

His movement to power was just as calculated.

Albus remembered his first day upon the Wizengamot, an appointment that felt unfitting for him. He was only a teacher, he had studied how to run the world, but it was a past he hoped to escape, its memory brought with it a shattered heart, a shattered dream, and a shattered family. As he sat, he could see the unrest, the unease which some members held for ideas which seamed basic.

Albus took up his wand in the present, summoning forth a saltshaker, dumping its contents on the desk, pulling the salt with his magic and shaping it, again losing himself in thought.

Over the years the people became more and more fanatical, more and more uneased, pushed further and further. They moved from unease to downright hostile. Good people started becoming more uncommon, either converting or vanishing. Then the horrible day in 1970 happened. September the first, as Hogwarts began, Albus, who was beginning his fifth year of Headmastering the most prestigious school in the world, forced from his love of Transfiguration, received a special edition of The Daily Prophet.

It had depicted a horrible thing, a vile thing, 17 men and women of nonmagical origin dropped from the ceiling of the Ministry of Magic. Included was the Minister herself Millicent Bagnold. Floating in the atrium with the bodies was a green skull with a snake slithering out of it, the dark mark. It was the beginning of a horrible civil war. The government had cut the military following the peace after the previous conflict, as standing militaries were an uncommon thing in the wizarding world. Informants, ineptitude, and outright betrayal weakened the Aurors. Albus seeing the failure of the world around him organized a paramilitary group under his command, to counteract the vile men on the other side.

It was an organization of friends, former comrades of his previous campaign, and like-minded individuals. Years later Albus looked back upon himself, wondering what separated him from the opposing headpiece of the movement. Both moved people for the best decision, both men had killed, both men commanded with the knowledge the person doing said command would end up dead.

Lightning flashed.

In the present his circle was completed, moving in a block of wood and a bit of plant he powered it, using his will and the instructions of his circle to shape and change the thing into a lit pipe, ready to relieve stress. It had only been three hours since they held the somber Halloween feast. Breathing in and out, letting the magical weed fill his lungs, bringing with it relaxation, he went back to his remembering. Outside nature relentlessly assaulted the castle, deep rounds of thunder shaking the very foundations.

Introducing his group turned the war, its organization and goals being clear and defined with a genius veteran as a director being enough to make the 'Death Eater's' begin to know failure and defeat. Until HE took the field for the first time. In the town of York Albus's Order of the Phoenix, named for his companion Fawkes, captured Rodolphus Lestrange. He was a man who specialized in necromancy, turning the dead into monsters in only minutes, and one of the suspected generals of the opposition, if not the leader.

Then he appeared. He walked up to the group which was comprised of Dominic Burke, an Auror who had countless men behind bars because of his actions, Sofia Armstrong, a woman who had defeated a general of his former friend, and Skyler Fuentes, one of the brightest charms minds that Albus had ever met, only three years out of school and already he was petitioning to have her be the heir apparent to the charms position.

The man walked up to the group, his skin wraith-like, his eyes like the burning inferno of a Volcano. He split the neck of Dominic without a word, followed by rotting Sofia to dust in seconds, but Skyler was the worst. He toyed with her, in the duel that ensued he removed a finger of her non-wanded hand one at a time before finally sent a curse that turned her intestines into snakes. It was then that Albus arrived, all too late. Despite reverting the magic upon her, he still held her in his arms until death took over her. She asked him to pull the memory of the monster from her mind and he did. Even with the differences, there was no doubt it was his former student.

The boy had always been on Albus's watch list, a talent would be undercutting it, he breezed through the curriculum, was popular, and did it all as an orphan. After graduation, Albus expected to see his name somewhere doing something great, but that day, calling role for his sixth-year class was the second to last time he had ever heard his name naturally. He had almost forgotten the boy after so many years, he had been to and won a war since teaching him. The only other time he had met the boy was for an interview for Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he reluctantly had to give to someone else, as Tom didn't have the experience for the subject.

Albus questioned what day Tom Riddle died, for the inhuman which had slaughtered Albus's friends was not Tom, but Voldemort. Dumbledore wondered when he had begun crying.

The years passed, few wizards were sent by the ICW to help against the dark magic user, no matter how threatening Voldemort was, with the warlord Bahman Tavakoli campaigning, pushing borders, killing people outside his own, pulling a host of demons to his aid through the mass sacrifice of innocents. Compared to Bahman Tavakoli Voldemort was a small scale villain when looking internationally. What was the fate of a single country when contrasted to the world?

The world flashed, the Black Lake moving with force, its waves growing ever taller slapping against the stone of Hogwarts, pushing against it. The surface was rougher than a dragon's back and more temperamental. It was as if the Kraken itself was awakening beneath the swells, harking forth an apocalypse upon its people.

Then everything changed on a single day. A day that gave Dumbledore hope. Sadly, it also filled him with dread. The year before Lucy Loveryk, his former divination professor, retired. This brought him to his position of a job interview with a young woman. She was petite with curly hair, large round glasses upon her face. She schooled at Ridgeland but held a passion for teaching, and a gift for many branches of divination. Then in the middle of the meal the two were sharing, which masqueraded as an interview, she stiffened, her eyes rolling in her head, her magic flaring out around her. She opened her mouth and words spewed out, despite her lips not moving to form them.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...

and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...

and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

The rush of magic reminded him of an earlier time in his life. When he was a child wondering Knockturn Alley with his dear friend, stopping within a shop brought forth an unassuming witch, but she two held forth a terrible power. She two had spoken with an unmoving mouth.

The form once combined will be broken...

The brothers will be split, kin blood spilt, and brothers split again...

The ambitions will fail, and be succeeded...

The artifact collected betraying and loyal...

The host lost without a head, brothers broken, tarnished again...

Years later that woman would be sacrificed for an evil man to locate an object that should have never been found, an object that was betraying yet loyal, an object that could win a war but inevitably lost it.

Knowing the danger, the woman was in he hired her on the spot, less for his need and more for her protection, the blood of a genuine prophet was a powerful thing and a dangerous thing.

Lightning flashed, rain fell, the smoke of his pipe dwindled. Fawkes slept upon his perch, ever there, loyal to him. A friend who understood the poor man better than anyone, understanding the sleepless weeks, powered only by his pure need to save as much as he could. To redeem himself for past mistakes.

It was only days later when a former student had approached Albus. He was also a brilliant pupil, newly graduated as of two years ago, his mind was untouchable when it came to potions, becoming the youngest master of the art in Britain in recorded history. He stood in front of Albus in tears, regret in his eyes. The boy explained how he was a follower of the Dark Lord Voldemort, how by happenstance he had overheard the prophecy. How ecstatic he was at the knowledge. Although he was caught and did not overhear the entire prophecy he had heard a part, the first two lines. He knew his master would be pleased by the information, though he never expected the Dark Lord to take the word born to be the literal birth of a child. He planned to kill any child born at the end of July to any opponent.

Severus, the man before him, had an old friend, his first love, a red-haired beauty named Lily who was expecting. The witch was a known member of the order, she and her husband had dueled against the monster and survived three times despite being recent graduates. Severus pleaded for her life, promising anything, no matter the cost she needed to be safe.

A tactic such as this was directly up Voldemort's alley, reaching out with his mind he touched Severus's own. Feeling only remorse and fear until the thoughts became a void Albus decided to trust Severus.

This was the correct move. Of his direct allies, five sets of them had a timetable birth for the end of July. Two passed the date, but three did not. They murdered Erik Robertson and his pregnant wife Anna in transit to the hospital on the 29th. Frank and Alice Longbottom gave birth to a healthy boy on the 30th while hiding under a Fidelis charm. The following day Harry was born to James and Lily Potter also under the Fidelis. The boy would be a year and three months today for at least another hour.

A brilliant doe cut his musing short, formed of positive energy, fueled by love. Outside the monsoon had ended, the wind bringing with it the only reminder to what was. Through the magical construct a voice rang, a sobbing Severus.

"Dumbledore, she is dead. Lily is dead. The house is destroyed but she is dead." His words interlaced with sobs and wheezing. How he could cast such a positive spell while in such a sad state spoke to his capability as a wizard. All the same, Albus felt his heart give out a little more. Many a young life lost, spilt, a talent gone from the world. If Lily was dead it was probable that James and the baby Harry were too. The poor boy was never given a chance. A puddle was beginning below the old man, aged beyond his years by the unrest and hardship of his life. "But Dumbledore, the Dark Lord is not here, and the boy, he lives." Albus sat up. Confused, the boy lived, how, how was he alive, why would Voldemort leave him living. Severus said the Dark Lord was gone, was he defeated, was the prophecy completed? How?

"Fawkes, to Hagrid."

The bird awoke and, without hesitation, latched onto Albus, transferring them both to the hut of his most trusted friend. Knocking violently on the door.

"C'min, C'min." The ground beneath Albus shook slightly as the door opened revealing the kind face of Hagrid, the gentle giant. "Oh, headmaster, err, what can I help you with at this hour?"

"Hagrid, I need you to do me a favor."

"Anything Albus." The kind man replied.

"This is a portkey to the house of the Potters, something happened there. I need you to go there and guard the child, Harry. Voldemort attacked his house and the boy is the lone survivor." He knew this because of the message being from Severus and not James, for James would have killed the former death eater the moment he was on the premises.

"But Albus, I cannot portkey well, as you know." The man of giant's blood spoke. His natural repulsion from magic caused this effect. However, not all Portkeys were crafted by Albus.

Albus gave him a warm smile, with a hint of pride, "I think you will find this one to carry you to your destination, even within the grounds of this school. The word is Family." Speaking the word as the old man had requested let Albus alone with Fawkes. "To Minerva and Poppy please." He spoke fishing out paper and scribbling quick messages on them. Walking back to the castle had him meeting the two witches, highly specialized in their fields, in the Entrance Hall.

"Albus, what is this about the Potters, and Voldemort being gone?" His first staff hire asked him.

"Just as I said, it seems that Harry is alive and Voldemort is gone, Poppy, I will bring the child here for you to look over, Minerva I need you to find a home for the boy, for I fear that he no longer has his." His eyes had long been wet, he doubted they looked anything but at the current time.

Assigning the task as he had, thankful that it was a Friday and that he did not have to force classes tomorrow, he took off to his old home. A place full of memories, in retrospect the ones he despised the most at the moment were the ones he held the dearest. Sitting in a room with only him and Ariana, discovering the wonders of knitting, Albus reading. Her innocent voice declaring the socks in her hand was meant for her favorite big brother Alby. The one who keeps her safe and warm. His mother kissing his head and taking away his book, reading The Tales of Beetle and Bard for him, allowing him to sleep. His father playing with the boy on one of his few brakes from work, dropping nuggets about the wonders of magic. Those were the memories he remembered fondly, hating his younger self for the boredom, the rebellion, and the resentment he had felt originally.

* * *

His apparition had him in front of his property, a minor house of little importance. Walking the street surrounded by his past mistakes, his failed ambitions, and his destroyed family, he walked to the house which held the Potters. It stood, the second-floor smoldering with a sizeable hole, the fact that he could see the house had him angered.

They had entrusted Sirius Black to hold the secret of their home, by having such a weakness in the house let the protections on it to be second to none. The coward had sold them out or perhaps been against them the whole time. The Blacks had always been an evil family, perhaps they had set his entire childhood up for this moment, they were a canny group and wouldn't put such a deception past them. Dumbledore should have been their secret keeper, just another mistake in the sea of his life. At the door of the house stood Hagrid next to a motorbike, in his hands a baby, quiet despite the upheaval of his life. Albus walked up to the pair, seeing the tears upon Hagrid's face.

"James and Lily, dead sir, they are dead." The man sobbed. Albus reached out grasping up his shoulder.

"But this child lives, may I see him." Hagrid gingerly did so. The boy continued his sleep. His brown hair split in the front revealing an angry-looking sowilo rune. Drawing a bit of sage out of his robe he lit it with his wand, twirling it he muttered a Chinese Proverb, in Chinese, 'Look for a thing until you find it and you'll not lose your labor'. The spell took hold pulling the burning sage into the spell flooding Albus's thoughts with the truth. A curse of death had hit here, Avada Kedavra, the wand motion was the same vein as the rune on the head of the boy.

The spell was one of the closest things to be true evil. It was a spell that required the user to be calm, in a clear mind. The spell only operated on the person of question, it only acted on a single mark. The practitioner could not move besides the motions of the spell and had to have no emotions for the person of target other than loathing. It was taxing and hard on the body, leaving most people who cast it in an undead state, unable to shape magic ever again.

Using this spell was a specialty of Voldemort, he was one of the few wizards who had ever weaponized the spell to such a degree. Albus had seen the beast throw the spell three times in one combat, the sign of that bolt always appearing to signify the loss of life. Voldemorts aim with the curse always struck true. That he could cast the spell in three seconds was even scarier.

Avada Kadavra was always fatal when it hit the mark and it appears the very essence of the target is driven from its body, leaving behind an empty shell. The pain is assumed to be attributed to the curse is unimaginable, for the fraction of time the rune is inscribed it takes the soul piece by piece out of the body. This separation is an agony that surpasses the use of the torcher curse even. Or so Herpo the Fool says in his writings, no man since has been evil enough to test the man's theories, not even Voldemort.

The scar on the boy's head housed a leech. Voldemort had detached part of his soul and somehow anchored it in Harry. Albus's knowledge excluded a way to remove a soul fragment from someone, phylacteries and Horcruxes notwithstanding. One which removed the whole soul and the other which split it indiscriminately, he would have to look into a way to change the evil ritual of the Horcrux if he ever wished for Harry to be at peace, for having a gate to the Abyss, a passage formed of shadow leaching on the source of a person, must not be good for someone. Already Dumbledore could feel the shift in the boy's magic, what used to be full of positive and fey influence had transformed into something more sinister.

The last piece of the scar with another odd magic, a feminine part. It was not unlike a shield, though specialized. It seemed to limit the exposure of the soul piece, not allowing the more experienced personality to overtake the whole of the soul, merely letting a soft bleed through.

Albus felt his trance end, wiping a bit of blood from his nose, the harsh magic only being usable because of the magical nature of Halloween. Hagrid stood with worry but Albus was only focused on Harry, what a special boy. "Please take him to Hogwarts Hagrid, to Poppy, with haste." Letting the two go he entered the house. The entry room held many symptoms of transfiguration, the cause of them was located on the floor, his wand in hand and eyes closed, most likely by Hagrid. He looked so young, his hair was free, almost still dancing. The sword in his chest probably killed him instantly, though the house showed signs of quite the fight, James was an amazing wizard. Sorrowfully he was severely hampered, he was defending his wife and could not use the full scope of his transfiguration abilities due to the small room. The sword was most presumably of his make, modeled after the fabled weapon of Gryffindor, Voldemort likely saw it as an ironic way to finish a rival to his cause, James probably wouldn't have rathered a different way. Looking around the room he saw another wand, this one was Lily's, she had died without being equipped to defend herself it seemed.

Walking to the second floor he moved to the open door, to the nursery. Stepping over a pile of robes seeping with dark magic he approached Lily Potter. The magic in the air reminding him of the magic within Harry, it seemed that Lily still was capable to save her boy, even without a wand. The look of peace upon her face was something strange given the rune etched into her skin. As if she was the triumphant one. The room around them was destroyed, this included a book. The text while damaged left an echo of what it was, a magic that involved death, but brought about positive energy from sacrifice, the positive and negative planes working together to pull forth protection. Voldemort, the ever-confident, must have missed the ritual circle made in blood on the floor, the form and text of the circle were also destroyed.

Pulling out another shaker of salt Albus began to draw, then he painted with it, the shapes he formed telling magic what to do. Fueling the circle brought forth the shape into a new form, taking the salt and turning it into fine sand. Using a specialized charm, he pulled the sand into a bottle. He could already feel his magic begin to struggle against him. Using powerful time magic, like he was about to perform, would be his last spell of the day. He worked his wand, twirling the air around them, guiding the fine sand. He voiced out in ancient Akkadian, a Babylonian dialect.

Sands of time move back time

Pull forth memory, pull forth time

Remember the world for how it was and how it is

Reveal the death, show me death

Sands of time move back time

It was a miracle that this even happened on Halloween. The spells of death only worked on Holloween and the fifth of May. The shadows showed Albus felt the grip of shadows on his heart, the magic of the shadow plane never doing well to his command. He coughed up blood and watched as slight wrinkles appeared upon his hand. He witnessed the shade of Lily Potter pleading, standing in front of the crib of Harry. Only she and the Voldemort displayed. Albus knew it was Voldemort as the feather of Fawkes presented through the shadow's wand, its connection to Albus allowing it to appear. Then the spell was cast, and Lily's shadow left, her spirit leaving thus not being able to imprint on the world of shadows. Voldemort stood before the boy, appearing to talk to him. Then he cast the spell, it hit the boy. The boy's essence faded and miraculously returned, as if the boy had died but come back, Albus watched as a shimmer from the contact point hurled the magic back striking the Voldemort. The shadow of Voldemort broke, seeming into three parts. One disappeared, one fled the room through the opening in the wall, the final smallest piece attached to the magical hole in the child's head.

Voldemort was defeated, for now. Killed by a child, who had died but wasn't dead. With the power of his mother. Britain needed to know, with the head gone the snake would follow. He sat down, penning a summary of what happened to the current minister of magic, Nobby Leach, who was reappointed to the office after the former minister's demise. He grabbed a vial of Lily's blood, whatever she had done was powered by her, maybe he could change it slightly.

"Fawkes, as much as I hate this could you bring me to my chambers, I think that I can do no more tonight."

He was asleep as soon as he hit the pillow.

* * *

The next morning saw his first stop at Poppy's medical wing. "How is the child."

"He is fine and healthy, all except for that leach on his head. Albus, that... thing, it is so allusive and hard to detect that I could barely find it. I don't see it taking over any time soon and other then the additional energy he will need since he will waste quite a bit on feeding the magic that combats against it." She looked at the boy with pity. Whether for the loss of his parents in his early life or the horrible thing he carried within him Albus didn't know.

"Thank you, Poppy, for taking care of him for me, why don't you get some rest." He said, grabbing the boy who had still yet to speak.

"It is no problem, he is such a quiet child, and so very sweet. He looks like James you know. I saw that boy enough to know that." She said, a sad smile appearing on her face.

"Yes, he does, though he has his mother's eyes."

The pair left allowing the nurse to get some well-needed sleep. Albus, upon reaching his office, altered a chair into a cradle. He felt the strain as he did, burning within his pathways, he needed to rest his magic. The boy let out a giggle watching the magic. "Pa." He yelled out. Albus choked, realizing that the transfiguration master that was James would most likely do these things to entertain the child. Fresh tears appeared to replace the old ones, Harry staring at Albus with the innocent eyes the entire time, confused about where his father was, wondering when he would be back. The Daily Prophet chose that time to arrive.

The paper declared Harry a hero, calling him 'the-boy-who-lived', saying he single-handedly won the war. Flipping through he saw how the Aurors conducted many raids, catching the Death Eaters at the sight of their meeting place, confused why their lord never returned most didn't even fight. Few did however escape. After partaking in the meal, having a child solution brought for the boy, Minerva returned to his office.

"His closest relatives are Petunia and Vernon Dursley, they live at Number 4 Privet Drive. They are muggles. If we instead look for his closest magical relative it is Sirius Black, who is now wanted I believe, followed by the wanted Bellatrix Lestrange, and finally Narcissa Malfoy. Of these, he would most likely go to Malfoy."

"What about Andromeda?"

"She was disinherited remember since she is no longer a Black, she refuses all rights of being a Black." She reminded him. That poor child.

"Well, then I guess I will write Petunia, we will bring him tonight, make sure you grab his paperwork from the house. Also, I forgot to bring with me their bodies, be sure that Poppy gets them." She looked disappointed in him; he shared her feelings.

He quickly penned the message as soon as Minerva left.

_Dear Petunia,_

_This is the second letter that I have ever written to you. For the second time, I wish it were under better circumstances._

_As you most likely know, our world was at war, a villain sought to rid the world of people like your sister. He is now gone, defeated, by a young boy._

_That young boy is named Harry Potter and he is your nephew. He is a quiet boy with eyes that drip with intrigue. It was your sister's magic, and love for her son that allowed him to live and win. Sadly, she did not. Both she and her husband have passed on, leaving this boy with no home._

_As you are his closest relative the responsibility for his life falls to you._

_Here are some important things to note when raising a magical child, as well as some special things about Harry in particular._

_He will at some point display magic, no matter what it does not punish him for it, harming a child after he uses magic can leave memories which then later harm the magic use_

_If he does magic in public it is no worry, a part of an ancient spell is how magic that does not come from a wand is ignored by people who do not know magic exists_

_Socializing is key for Harry, as for when he enters the wizarding world, he will be quite famous, he would do well to be forced into public situations and public speaking, maybe have him join a choir_

_He will need more food than the average child, this is due to a strain on his magic_

_You can tell him about magic whenever you wish if you ever want you can post me and I will send you books which you can read to him so that entering the world is not so much a culture shock_

_All and all, care for him, please._

_I am sorry for your loss._

_Albus Dumbledore_

After sealing the letter, he spent the rest of the day going between entertaining Harry and concocting a new ward for the home, based on the sacrificial nature of Lily's blood. When night had arrived, he gave the boy again to Hagrid, entrusting him to bring him to his new home. Then Dumbledore and Fawkes traveled to the boy's future home. The house was dark, as dark as the world around them, streetlamps decorating the street. Walking up to the door he worked his new creation, painting with his former student's blood made him weak, as weak as working with the shadows always did, but from it he pulled out the positive, the protective nature of his mothers work, allowing it to spread over the neighborhood and protect him from any magic that seeks to harm him while there. After completing the small ritual Albus tumbled over, into the waiting arms of Minerva.

"You old fool. What are you doing?" She admonished him.

"Just setting up some protections."

"You know Albus, I'm not sure we should leave the boy here. The muggles here seem so, ordinary, I don't know how they will feel having an Accio cast into their lives."

"Minerva, the boy has nowhere else to go. All paths lead to his death except for this one."

"You are right Albus, It's only..."

"I know, they were two of my favorites as well."

The pair sat in silence until the sound of a motorcycle entered. Hagrid had finally arrived. Taking the child from him Albus rested him in a basket, crafted from alchemy just that day. Within he slipped the letter and the boy's papers.

Setting him on the front step he knocked and started walking away, seeing lights start from inside the house.

"Good luck Harry Potter." He kissed the boy's brow and with a call of Fawkes was back in his office. From his drawer, he pulled out a bottle of firewiskey and three glasses. Pouring all three to the brim. "To the end of the war, thank you for your sacrifice, Lily." He nodded to one glass, "And James." He took to the other. His entire Saturday night was spent in his room crying. Drinking cup after cup, filling himself with every regret, remembering every face, every name, every friend who had gotten him to this place.

Today was a good day, for it was the start of peace.

* * *

**Edited mistakes pointed out by Knatz and guest, sorry guest my dyslexia must have kicked in when trying to use find and replace!**


	2. Chapter 1: The Hermit

**Chapter One: The Hermit**

**AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Warning for this chapter. It will read very slow, repetitive and boring. That is how this chapter needs to be, but the story will be very different. This chapter is titled the hermit and I want to portray how that feels. If anyone likes this maybe, we will get past chapter 5. This story Idea that I have is a Harry who is not good at wand magic but excels at esoteric magic, namely divination, enchanting, necromancy, and blood magic. He will never be able to stand toe to toe with Tom Riddle or even Snape as a duelist, he will never be able to transfigure like McGonagall or even Cedric. This will be a story with Harry in more of a supportive role but will have to defeat Tom Riddle. Shoutout to my first beta ever in jinxwalnut25 for their wonderful support in helping this mess of thoughts that I have!**

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The Hermit. The Sun. The Wheel of Fortune.

Three major arcana cards, a new experience for the small, ten-year-old boy in the cupboard. Such an event was something new, exciting even. Large positive emotions were hard to come by at Privet Drive, usually only in the fantastic stories of neighborhood gossip that his Aunt, Petunia, recounted at the dinner table to his Uncle, Vernon, and cousin, Dudley. Before this particular full moon, he had never pulled more than a single major arcana card in any of the draws he had done over the past three years. The first card he drew, the Hermit, symbolizes his past, and his current life with the Dursleys. The card, marked with a IX, was a man facing west carrying a lamp and staff in his right and left hand, respectively. The man was cloaked in grey, with a flowing white beard, forever alone in a barren world: a perfect symbol for Harry. The contemplation of the card brought him back to reality, back to the Dursleys. They were always the Dursleys, never his family, just as he was only the boy living under the stairs, never their nephew. The lack of relationship extended to his referral of them, his 'Uncle' forbade the use of familial prefixes, and so they became Vernon and Petunia, nothing tying them to the raven-haired Harry Potter. He had learned the hard to never display the slightest notion that he shared anything other than a roof with his guardians. The Hermit was often his present, or future, or past: the only constant in Harry's life, other than the chores and travail he would inevitably face day after day. Sitting in the past alone would not be too surprising, but in conjunction with the card symbolizing his present, The Sun, it brought a speck hope thought to be long gone. It promised a life with more than just tolerance, but love and affection the two cards were a hint of a new beginning.

The Sun watched him, staring him down despite its apparent lack of sentience. It was an indifferent face eyeing Harry, pasted on a glowing wall of sunflowers, and the number XIX. In the foreground was a nude child, crowned in more sunflowers and riding a pure white horse, smiling at the holder. The Sun was meant as a beacon of warmth, comfort, hope, not unlike the star it portrayed. Staring at the star outside that shared its likeness reminded Harry of the day it all began when he had flipped this very card for the first time. His first-ever friend, hanging above him, preluding such wonderful occurrences. Shortly after turning the card the first time, Harry was told that the Dursleys were to be heading to a vacation in Germany and that he was to remain alone at Privet Drive. It was the first time the hunger pains stayed away for longer than a few days, the first time he didn't feel like a stranger in someone else's home. And so, The Sun became the one card in his collection that he had consistently brought him joy. However, the card carried with it a warning, a warning to restrain yourself and not overindulge. Harry learnt this the hard way, spending much of that very week throwing up the food he had gorged on, unused to being able to eat whatever. It was a mystery to Harry what The Sun would bring, another vacation, or something else entirely?

The final card was the most offensive of the three. The Wheel of Fortune, X. The card was of the heavens, depicting angels reading on their bed of clouds. In the very center, there was a large wheel holding up a blue sphinx wielding equally blue swords. Counterclockwise portrayed a snake chasing a devil into the three o'clock position. The only certainty the card brought, was that the future is uncertain; what a joke. In all of the tarot deck, The Wheel of Fortune took the cake as the most useless fitting card, unable to give any clues or speculation over what's to come.

The night of the full moon slowly ended, and as Harry drifted off into sleep dreaming not of the moon shining above him, but of the radiant sun smiling down at him.

* * *

The Hermit. The Sun. The Wheel of Fortune.

As Harry moved into a deeper slumber, he dreamed of the foundation of his current obsession, precisely three years and six months ago. It began on a day like any other, running home from school, but not out of exercise or any love of running. Instead, Dudley and some of his rougher classmates thought it was a perfect day for their favorite sport, Harry Hunting. Stumbling into various locals, running around trees, and darting through alleyways, Harry attempted to evade the gang after him. He slid inside a small shop that hadn't been there before, in a building he did not recognize. The unfamiliarity set Harry's skin was sitting on edge, the air felt humid to his skin, thick and heavy all around him. It felt much like how he expected walking through a tesla coil would feel, the static dancing through the air, reminding of its uncontrollable and lethal nature. Staying away, but only just, the atmosphere did nothing to calm Harry's nerves.

The seconds filtered away, or was it minutes? Perhaps days? Time seemed to lose all meaning as Harry stood in front of the door, rooted to the spot. Mixed in with the wild air, a feeling of power and hope jumped around. Peace and Serenity juxtaposed by the animalistic feeling the air had taken inside the store. Despite this strange atmosphere, or perhaps because of it, Harry felt no urge to run, content in the feeling it gave off. This feeling he had only felt secondhand, it was one that Dudley often displayed when hugging Petunia; was it love? Suddenly, the peace was gone, and the sound of Dudley and his friends reemerged. Harry turned to run further into the shop but instead found himself staring out of one of the windows, safe inside, while the group of boys ran past his hiding spot. Letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, Harry wished for the feeling to return. He closed his eyes, hoping it wasn't imagined when a small cough startled him out of his musings

A man leaned up against a small shelf, staring at him curiously. Crystal blue eyes pinned Harry to the spot, looking far older than his appearance made him seem. Clothed in an unusual, yellow and black striped robe, buttoned down to his waist where it began to loosely drag. He appeared to be in his thirties, at the most. He was thinner than average, but not as thin as Harry was, and his blonde hair was long and tied behind his hair in a high ponytail. Stepping from the wall, he began to approach Harry, causing the young boy to start sweating, blustering as he began sprouting excuses for why he was there, and how he should go. "Sorry sir, I apologize for the inconvenience, I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll go now," Harry said with a soft staccato, punctuating each word as if it were the end of a sentence. As Harry tried to turn the knob, he realized he couldn't grip the door handle, his hands were shaking too hard and lubricated with his own sweet. It was just as well, his feet remained firmly in place, unwilling to follow Harry's command to turn and leave.

"It's quite alright young man, my name is Adrian Farley," The man said in response, pushing his chest out, opening his arms to gesture around the room, a beaming smile upon his face, "and this is my shop, _Lost, Luck, and Stuff._" Harry's head began to move on a swivel, taking in the room and noticing how strange it was. To his left sat a bookshelf running to the back wall of the store, stocked end to end with books of various sizes. Small display tables were scattered around the room with seemingly no significance to their placement. Orbs, jewelry, paintbrushes, and knives cluttered the various tables somehow all fitting precariously on the minimal space. The whole place made him feel as if he was in a pawn shop, a very peculiar pawn shop. The man was being sincere, he wasn't intruding, he was welcome.

"Sorry, I have no money. I should go," Harry sputtered out again, the ingrained belief he wasn't welcome dominating against the welcoming presence he felt in the shop, years of training fighting against the sense of wonder and adventure. Too much had happened already, and different didn't mean good; he needed the safety of his cupboard. The man ignored his words and continued forward until he was soon looking down at Harry. When he got close enough, something clicked. The man radiated the same feeling as the shop. There was more than met the eye, it was as if the feeling had come from him all along.

Mr. Farley never lost his smile. Instead, he let out a small chuckle and said, "Now, there is nothing wrong with just looking. One doesn't always have to buy something, right?" The older man didn't pose a danger to him, yet, strangely enough, he didn't want Harry to leave. Thus, Harry decided to appease the man by looking around the strange store. It took him several minutes of walking to realize the complete lack of lights. Instead, every few meters were a set of candles, either on a table or attached to a wall. The whole store seemed darker than it should at four o'clock in the afternoon because of this. It seemed as if the objects were taking the light for themselves, something was not quite normal in the pawnshop. The walls of the room reminded  
Harry of pictures of old manor studies, the style didn't match what should be in Surrey. He could imagine an old lord walking through this room with a drink, parroozing over his various collectibles, each with a story attached to it: a far cry from the bland social events on Privet Drive.

Harry walked from table to table, not knowing what he was looking for, but content in running his hands over the various clutter. All the while Mr. Farley watched him with increasing interest, as if in anticipation of what was to come. Eventually, Harry encountered a small box. As his hand brushed over the beautiful brown container, he stopped; that feeling of power earlier had taken a new direction. Though having never seen a symphony, the Dursley's would hardly take him on any outing, he imagined it is how an orchestra director would feel. It was as he controlled the box, conducting what would happen, and in charge of every little piece that made up whatever was inside. The box was a slip seam, and Harry dutifully slid the contents into his palm. He gasped. In his hand, on top of a deck of others, was a beautifully decorated card. On it, a man stood on the edge of a cliff leaning forward as if the wind was holding him up. Next to him, a small white dog sat copying his motion. He was clad in an ornate tunic, with vines trailing over the fabric. In his hands, he carried a traveling stick over his shoulder, and a flower by his side, the sun warming his back. Harry looked down on The Fool.

Looking up, he saw Mr. Farley trying to mask disappointment, evidently not as impressed as Harry himself. Confused as to why he begrudgingly slipped the cards back into place and set them back down. Harry moved on with his search, reluctantly, feeling the loss of cards as the powerful feeling dissipated. Eventually, he came to the books. Running his finger from spine to spine, each book felt unique and powerful, as if the knowledge itself permeated through the books. After touching a specific book, unassuming as the rest, Harry felt a spark, not unlike that of the cards. However, this was different. The cards were subtle and all-encompassing, but this book was dangerous. Sinister. Whatever knowledge the tome carried did not feel of this world, yet still, Harry was drawn to it.

Like a child seeing fire for the first time, Harry reached out to touch where he had felt the spark. Fortunately, drawing it from the shelf left him unscathed. The book sat comfortably in his hand and was bound in brown leather. Harry felt the spine again, feeling little ridges running down. Turning to see the cover, Harry traced a white sigil design that was painted on. He fingered the encompassing circle, then he began to follow the lines from the right side to the top, then lower on the left. He continued, tracing a second a triangle from just above the center of the circle connecting left to right, then below the center, not touching the bottom.

"The gate of Yog-Sothoth."

Harry jumped up, the trance broke. He turned and tried to hide the book behind his back guiltily. The shop owner had lost his smile and was staring at Harry intently. Reaching forward, he held out the cards from before.

"Take these and that," Mr. Farley said, his head tilting at the book semi-hidden behind Harry's back. The mirth gone from his eyes, the shop owner looked far older than the thirty years Harry had assumed when he first arrived. "The book," Mr. Farley explained, his voice sharper than all of the knives in his store combined, "Nothing good will ever come of it, and you will be doing me a favor in taking it off my hands." He gestured to the cards he had handed Harry, "This is payment for your service. Now go." Hugging the book close to himself gripping the deck tight, Harry ran from the store. When he turned around after exiting, there was no store, only an empty lot.

The book, as he later found out, was written in three different languages: Greek, Egyptian Hieroglyphics, and one he was still trying to find. It was odd, the book was written with the languages mixing all over the place, chapter by chapter as one would assume. Harry had attempted to learn some Greek from the library in hopes of being able to read the book but to no avail. The progress on learning Egyptian Hieroglyphics was moving even slower, as scholars still don't even know the meanings of some themselves. Gating most of the translations in more important libraries than his local one. Leading the only resources available in the pictures of books, and most of it was self speculation. In the same way, Harry couldn't decipher the third language and had found no reference on 'The Gate of Yog-Sothoth', whatever that meant. The closest thing Harry found was Thoth, the god of knowledge in Egypt.

The cards, on the other hand, were easy to figure out. The Tarot cards Harry had been given were meant to assist in divining past, present, and future. He studied divination as much as he could in the library, reading various techniques. He had never put much stock into the more obscure sciences, given his upbringing, but felt he could trust this esoteric magic. It was as far as he was willing to go. Harry had made the mistake of taking one of the books home once, an occurrence he never desired to repeat. His uncle, upon finding a book on cleromancy, had punished him so severely he still walked with a slight limp in his left leg. Nevertheless, Harry had truly mastered card reading. The cards responded to him, worked with him as an extension of his hands and mind. The shaping and dealing, though never as powerful in the shop, was as close to the feeling he had felt standing outside the door. The feeling of power and control was like bringing chaos to heel and commanding it. The cards became his friends, in place of the lack of others willing to associate with him, many too scared to get on his cousins' bad side. Touching them, even when not in use, could calm or comfort Harry. No matter what he did, no matter what he was punished for, the cards always stood with him. They were not fickle, they were the only things Harry had ever had to stand by him.

* * *

The Hermit. The Sun. The Wheel of Fortune.

His present was the sun, yet never had he felt more restricted. The card was hinting something would change, yet Harry was still in the small area under the stairs. Hardly somewhere that gives an impression of sunshine. It was the following morning and still, nothing came. Harry reached down to touch his book, letting its presence soothe him, bringing the distress he had been feeling down. Something was different though, the cards seemed as anxious as he felt, nervously thrumming in his hands. Harry shook the thought away, collecting his cards and placing them away, upset with himself for not doing it the night before. Reminding himself to not make it a habit, Harry involuntarily thought of what could've happened. If his uncle had seen them. He did not doubt that his uncle finding himself in such a state would lead not only physical pain but the destruction of his only friend: the cards Thankfully his guardians never came to the cupboard, not since he got his limp. Nevertheless, Harry remained wary.

Harry left his cupboard, going through his hygiene routine as quickly and quietly as possible. After getting dressed and precursory cleaning, the cooking began. As always, hearty strips of bacon, sausages, eggs sunny side up, and toast were prepared. While he cooks, Harry's stomach grumbles, a reminder that he hadn't eaten yesterday, and the smell of bacon is no substitute for the real thing. Harry prepares three plates with various combinations of the food and sets them on placemats. He goes to pour tea, white with plenty of sugar, flitting about to make sure everything looks perfect. Contemplating whether to grab the burned bacon stuck in the pan, Harry resigns himself to another day of going hungry. He quickly goes to the cupboard and shuts the door, grateful at least that he finished before anyone came down.

In the nick of time as well, Harry has only just closed the cupboard door before the stairs strain overhead. The smell of bacon was a wakeup call for the others, as the other inhabitants of Number Four make their appearance for the day. Coming down first, the reason behind the groaning stairs and falling plaster, is Vernon. Built like an elephant, and just as strong, something Harry knew firsthand, Vernon had played Rugby at university. While he was once a man of great strength, the years of a desk job and a hearty diet added extra thickness to a body that had once been pure muscle. His powerful figure was usually outlined in a tailored grey suit, his uniform as a regional Director at Grunnings. Combined with his pocket watch and handkerchief, Vernon looked an imposing figure to anyone, especially his nephew.

Though tall, Petunia looked petite next to Vernon. Slim and straight, she was the perfect counter to her husband. An athlete in university as well, a runner, she kept her shape by running through the neighborhood, useful as well to be kept up to date with all the local gossip. Petunia kept her head high, preferring to look down upon you, giving the impression of a rather long and sharp neck. Though rather angular and sharp, Petunia was pretty, her watery blue eyes and curly brown hair, softening much of her features. She dressed to compliment her figure, in flowing skirts and dresses that gave the impression of someone much nicer than she. However, she was just as powerful as her husband, working in the local government. She had originally worked before Dudley was born and was returning now that Dudley was older. Now that he was old enough to be left alone for a few hours, Petunia gladly took the opportunity to return to work. She truly cared for her neighborhood and county, willing to go above and beyond to make it the best it can be.

Harry listened from his cupboard. The content radiating from the kitchen could not have been more unlike the hungry ten-year-old in the dark cupboard. The ceiling rattled once more as Dudley came down to join them. Everything felt different when Dudley was around, he was the recipient of the love in the house. As if a switch was flipped, the content changed to happiness as Dudley made his way into the kitchen. His parents cheerfully greeted their son, his presence waking them up more than the tea ever could. His enthusiastic response could be heard to Harry, as he loudly recounted the dream he had had the night before. The three were close, it was unusual for the happy interaction to be disrupted.

Dudley was very much his father's son. He was big. Standing a full head taller than Harry, Dudley was the tallest boy in their grade. His large frame was strong, built for boxing. At school, he was popular, a rough hand on the schoolyard, and one of the many reasons Harry had no friends. Contrary to what one would think, however, he was not only brawn but also possessed a brain. Ranked top of their class, Dudley consistently scored well on tests, and, when he wasn't engaged in Harry Hunting, could often be seen doing any sort of schoolwork. He was a prodigy in math, having been sitting in on his father's work meetings since he could speak. Most of his drive for success came from the high expectations that his parents set for him. Having both pulled themselves up by the bootstraps, they expected only successes from Dudley, in everything. Their desire for greatness came from love, yes, but their expectations had become stifling, and underneath the calm facade was an underlying worry that he wouldn't measure up.

Unfortunately for Harry, he could not be compared favorably to his cousin. His grades were abysmal, and no amount of effort seemed to improve them. Mentally comparing him to Dudley wouldn't be fair, like apples and oranges, as the drive to succeed simply didn't exist in Harry. Physically, he wasn't the most attractive child either. Thinner than Petunia, Harry's slight build made him look to be eight years old instead of his ten. Where her slimness was that of a runner, Harry's body was due to malnutrition and cramped spaces growing up. His hair was not the straight sandy blond of Vernon and Dudley, nor was it the light curled brown of Petunia, but a mop of unruly black on his head.

The comparisons don't end at Privet Drive, with his broken glasses, crooked teeth, and ill-fitting clothes, Harry was at the receiving end of many jokes. With his appearance, it's unlikely he would have found solace with any other kids, even if Dudley didn't threaten anybody who spoke a kind word to him. Harry was the shortest student for two classes and about the weakest of three. He could have been athletically gifted regardless, but the limp given to him by Vernon ended that dream very quickly. The only redeemable quality about his appearance was his eyes. When people were there, they stopped and stared. They'd get captivated looking into what appeared to be a kaleidoscope of one color, glowing with a hidden depth and power that seemed almost tangible. Harry lived for those moments, convincing him to believe he had worth.

The sound of chairs scraping broke Harry from his thoughts. The family began to move to the sitting room, as they did every morning. The sounds of the telly turning on was his signal to begin his chores. Moving to the kitchen Harry began to clean what remained of breakfast, straining to hear over the sound of the sink as he did the dish, he could hear the peals of laughter over the latest show the Dursleys had begun. Listening to the chatter from the other room, Harry's heart yearned to be a part of it. Just like every other morning, Harry imagined himself there as well, imagining himself as one of the family, feeling Vernon and Petunia's proud smiles.

"The post. Boy! I need my paper," Vernon calls in a gruffer voice than he was speaking to Dudley. His delusions shattered as reality crashed. His place is not with them, it isn't with any family. Going into the entryway he collects the small pile, sorting the letters by the recipient and handing the newspaper to Vernon, Returning to the kitchen, Harry tries to tie his hunger over, wondering if it will be like normal: eating the crumbs left behind or going as far as to lick the egg yolk left on the plate. Fortunately, today was a feast, an entire slice of toast was left behind! His stomach satisfied; Harry prepares lunch with more vigor than usual. As he's making the sandwiches, Harry wonders if it was left behind intentionally, if perhaps they're coming around, if that's what The Sun card was about. After finishing lunch, he packs the mess away and begins on his next list of chores. His day passes as he weeds the garden, dusts the sitting room, tidies the garage, and bakes a shepherd's pie for dinner.

Harry becomes quickly fatigued as the burden of work steals his energy. He's about to grab some fruit to gain back some momentum just as Dudley arrives home. His cousin enters the kitchen, ignoring Harry and not knowing the punishment he had helped Harry avoid, to grab his own secret snack. As his brown eyes met Harry's green, Harry focused. The monotony of his tutoring played in Harry's mind, from Dudley's point of view. The kitchen comes back into view as Dudley looks away. After the small bit of food, Dudley runs upstairs to play on his new electronic, leaving Harry slightly disoriented from the abrupt break. Harry begins to bake, knowing that the arrival of Dudley is a prelude to the arrival of the two adults, and dinner will need to be prepared. He's very good at baking, and it had become the one thing outside of his cupboard and divination that he enjoyed at the Dursleys house. An escape that he could share with the rest of the house, unafraid of the consequences.

Petunia was the next to arrive home, turning on the telly, likely excited to see if her opinion had made it to the news. The oven beeped for the pie just as Vernon arrived home, the smell of potatoes wafting throughout the house. As the three of them began to eat, Harry continued cleaning the house, scrubbing the bathroom until it shone. If he was good, Harry would get any scraps left over that weren't packaged away to keep. After dinner and the subsequent cleaning, Harry retreated into his cupboard for the night. The two adults continue to exchange thoughts on politics and work over tea in the sitting room, going upstairs to sleep when the grandfather clock strikes nine. The entire time they talk, Harry listened from a room away, imagining once again that he's sitting there with them. Mentally interjecting with questions and answering imaginary ones, he's tempted to leave the cupboard and join them. As the two adults go upstairs, the plaster and spiders that rain down on him show him what they think of that idea. For the first time, Harry curses The Sun. The hope he had felt last night dissipates into the dark, much like how The Sun had left him, and Harry drifts off to sleep, aching for

* * *

more.

The Hermit. The Sun. The Wheel of Fortune.

The next morning, Harry glumly goes through the same thing again. However, following Vernon's call, "The post. Boy! I need my paper," something strange happens. The mail that Harry went to get is not addressed to any Dursley. Instead, staring up at him in flowing calligraphy are the words, _Harry J. Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs_.

The Sun.

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**Edited 3/21/2020**

**Please note the next few chapters will still be up in a reduced state until further noted. No the quality of this fic will not be turning down, The chapters are merely remnants of what I had as a general outline before adding the talented jinxwalnut25 to my writing. **


	3. Chapter 2: The Sun I

**Chapter Two: The Sun I **

**AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. If anyone likes this maybe, we will get past chapter 5. This story idea that I have is a Harry who is not good at wand magic but excels at esoteric magic, namely divination, enchanting, necromancy, and blood magic. He will never be able to stand toe to toe with Tom Riddle or even Snape as a duelist, he will never be able to transfigure like McGonagall or even Cedric. This will be a story with Harry in more of a supportive role but will have to defeat Tom Riddle. Note I enjoy naming characters. If they speak, they will most likely have a name. That does not mean that they are a major player, or even that you need to remember it. Shoutout to my first beta ever in jinxwalnut25 for their wonderful support in helping this mess of thoughts that I have!**

* * *

The Sun.

Harry stood frozen; his eyes widened with disbelief. A letter for him, only him. Such an occurrence was unheard of in the Dursley house. Closing his eyes, Harry breathed to center himself, opening them again only to see that the swirling handwriting had stayed the same. Further blinks and several seconds of staring only had the same result; shimmering in the dim light of the foyer, the green ink proudly addressed itself to him. It was odd seeing his name staring back at him in an unfamiliar script, handwritten and personal, a stark contrast from the typed letters of his report cards. This envelope, addressed to him, was written in a flowing work of calligraphy that Harry had never encountered before; smooth and precise, ebbing and flowing, the writing was a river forming the shape _Harry Potter_. Harry remained in the same spot, his breathing smooth and calm despite the clenching of his stomach and shaking hands. This was his divinely predicted present; The Sun had finally made its appearance. A warmth crept through the drawn shades, a confirmation of his theory, a guiding light leading Harry to embark into a new future.

His breathing sped up slightly, as Harry attempted to make sense of the events surrounding him. The Sun contained a warning, yes, but also hope; was that enough to risk opening the letter? Should he share it with the Dursleys? No, absolutely not. Harry's leg began to give out, a reminder of the last time they had seen his interests, as well as how long he had been standing there. His mind made up; Harry sought to act normal. Pocketing the message in his baggy pants, the pockets easily concealing evidence of the paper, he brought the rest of the mail to Vernon and proceeded to the kitchen as nothing had happened. For once he was grateful at the lack of attention the Dursleys paid him; a single glance at the bounce in Harry's step would have given his entire facade away.

Harry continued his chores, certain that the clock was moving slower than ever before. Every little action incited a 5-minute check over on the single most important paper he had ever received; he nearly had a panic attack as he washed the dishes, paranoid whether it damaged the letter, or that the ink had smeared. Thousands of questions flitted through Harry's mind throughout the course of the day, all of them revolving around the letter, and all of them sending him into a cold sweat as he assumed the worst: Was the letter safe? Was it still in his pocket? Did the Dursleys know? Each time a voice was heard from the sitting room, Harry jumped a foot in the air, an excuse and an apology on his lips, but the Dursley's remained in the sitting room, and the letter remained unseen. He had taken to periodically placing his hands into his pockets, just to rub the sharp edges of the envelope. To an unknowing stranger, Harry acted much like a baby with undeveloped object permanence, checking its mother was still there. No matter how many times he checked, his stomach clenching and throat constricting, Harry remained constantly paranoid and on watch, slowly biding his time until he could safely open it.

After what felt like an eternity, but in actuality was only an hour, the Dursleys all parted for the day, leaving Harry alone. Ignoring his list of chores, he grabbed the letter knife, opening the envelope that had been twisting his stomach into knots in anticipation. Carefully severing the folded edge, he gently pulled out the folded thick parchment from inside. Not paper, parchment, a strange thing to write on nowadays. Opening the enclosed letter, he is met with more of the elegant script; however, this time the calligraphy is less advanced, a simpler print than the ostentatious writing on the envelope.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., CHF. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

The term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Moving on to the next paper, Harry reads through an unusual shopping list. With items including, but not limited to: A standard book of spells, dragonhide gloves, and a disclaimer over broomsticks. With a sinking heart, he realizes the implications. Harry was sent a letter regarding witchcraft and wizardry, a joke. Despite the sun still shining into the household, he shivers and struggles to hold back the tears brimming in his eyes. The hope that had been growing since the drawing of The Sun shattered. The harsh reality of his life wrapping its presence around him once more. What should have been a manifestation of change from Harry's life, was instead a cruel prank.

At least, it must be a joke, there's no way that this is not real. Magic does not exist, and there was no such thing as a "wizard", those were things from films and books, a way for Tolkien and Disney to make money. And a magic school? None of that was real, only a game one would play on the playground. Magic was something out of fantasy, a farce, to set good people to the devil and a life of sin. Harry's breath caught in his throat, the Dursleys. What if they found it? What if they saw him with this letter? What if they sent it as a trick, a trap? This trail of thoughts caused him to begin panting, his breathing accelerating as if a game of Harry Hunting had just finished. His shoulders collapsed on himself beginning to resemble a turtle, retreating within his shell. In an attempt to calm himself down Harry reasoned through the possibilities of the letter, slightly regaining his composure. Could this be a test, a path for Harry to take to get into their good graces? In case it was, he repeated for a second time, but aloud, reinforcing the idea within himself, "Magic isn't real." However, the response he got was not that of Vernon or Petunia, whom he expected, but came from himself instead. 'If magic isn't real, then what of your divinations?'

The inner realization brought back his sun, the warmth seeped back into his body, and the sliver of hope took hold once more. If his divination had predicted the coming of such a fantastical letter, why couldn't both be true? Once more, his mind raced for a solution for his current predicament. Following the speed of his mind, Harry ran to his cupboard. In another first experience in his life it was not out of fear or shame, but instead in a need of knowledge. Ripping the door, he frantically reached inside for his deck. Grasping the well-worn box, he slid them out, shuffling the cards within. He worked his way slowly into a trance, perched just outside the doorway under the stairs. Feeling the cards shift and mold in his hands he suddenly stopped, flipping over the top card. Staring him in the face was a card Harry had never pulled before: a man in white draped with a crimson stole. His face was stoic, standing proud in an illuminated garden. He stood behind a small table, holding a lit candle while above his head sat an infinity halo underneath the number I. The table held the four suits of the minor arcana, the cup, wand, pentacle, and sword, displaying that the man could choose all forms. The Magician.

* * *

The Hermit. The Sun. The Wheel of Fortune.

It was as if the deck was speaking directly to Harry, giving him the most obvious confirmation he had ever been given by the cards. He had to accept it; he was a Wizard. This was no mere prank, this was no mere trick, the conversation with the deck had informed him this was the real deal. Now, Harry just needed a way to respond. He turned towards another form of divination, cleromancy. Cleromancy is a form of divination best for yes and no questions. Putting his deck away, he grabbed a small bag of 26 rocks, all black or white. Luckily it was a Wednesday, so the method could be trusted. He began by asking it the important unanswered questions,

"Should I tell the Dursleys about the letter?"

As he spoke, he transferred the rocks to a second sack. Harry focused intently on his question, shoving all his thoughts, insecurities, and physical matters away; he needed this answer. Letting his entire being be consumed by the one question, all properties of Harry's self disappeared, all that mattered was the question. His mind voided, he shook the bag thrice, asking aloud as he performed the ritual,

"Should I tell the Dursleys about the letter?"

The verbalized question echoed around his brain. It resonated deep inside him, bouncing off his bones and finding its way towards his very soul. Once more, he shook the bag and again questioned the world around him.

"Should I tell the Dursleys about the letter?"

Finally, reaching into the bag, Harry grasped a handful of rocks and deposited them on his cot, his eyes already assessing his draw: Five dark, three bright. "All that for a no," He mumbled, pondering what his next course of action should be. The text of the letter appeared in his mind's eye, 'We await your owl by no later than the 31 July.' He shot up, for that was today. Disregarding the connection to his birthday as well, he felt the room grow colder as he realized his chance to follow the path set by The Sun was slipping away. The school needed his response today, but the mail had come already, taking away his method of sending something back. He sat back down, confused, how would he get an owl?

Shaking his head, Harry attempted to take it one step at a time, starting with writing the letter needing to be sent. He stepped into the hall, creeping up the stairs to the threshold of Vernon's study. He took a deep breath, mentally encouraging himself to break one of the major rules that had been beaten into him, literally. "Well in for a penny in for a pound," he said aloud, and with that he stepped into the room, a prepared cringe ready as he remembered the last time he had done so. Shaking his head to remove that thought, he located the pen and paper, writing the neatest he had ever written, intently focusing on his task.

_Dear Deputy Headmistress,_

_My name is Harry Potter and I received your Owl. I want to attend Hogwarts but have no equipment, and school starts next month. If you could send assistance, I would be very happy._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry Potter._

Harry signed his name with a flourish, rereading his response a few times to ensure everything was perfect. Having confirmed that it was the best he could do, he folded and put the paper into a nearby envelope, licking the outside to seal it. Marking the cover with Hogwarts, aware it wasn't a comprehensive address, Harry slowly began to make his way to the front door, his heart thumping as if trailed by a marching band. Walking outside with the letter, he attempted to make his way to the postal box before he was approached by a beautiful owl. He was all white except for a brown heart around his face brown tips on his wings. The owl stretched out its leg expectantly, looking at Harry like he could read his mind. Harry took a moment, breathing slowly, to quell the panic he had felt when the bird had come out of nowhere. As soon as he twitched the letter slightly forward the owl snatched it, grasping onto the letter. The owl began beating his wings and taking off from his perch without a single look back, leaving Harry to stare at its retreat with a glazed look full of awe and a slight tremor.

Drained from the motion ordeal, Harry trudged inside to begin his neglected chores. The tasks, normally completed with an automatic efficiency, were long and arduous. It was almost as if his spirit and will had flown into the sky with the letter. He kept dropping cleaning supplies, creating extra work for himself, yet only picking up the dropped items with a half-hearted carelessness. Added to the game of pickup was a halfhearted promise it would happen again. A promise that never lasted long. To make matters worse, time passed slower than it had in the morning: taking hours to move once around the clock. After eons had passed, the door of the house finally opened, and Dudley barreled home. Looking at his cousin, Harry could tell that it had not been a good day for Dudley at school. Making eye contact Harry saw a flash of a girl, tall and pretty. Her actions reminded Harry that not all people saw Dudley the way he did. Others did not see him as though he were the epitome of perfection. On the contrary, classmates outside of his circle of friends would often make fun of Dudley, teasing him for his weight. They weren't subtle about it either, calling him elephant man or walrus. Today specifically was over a girl he had liked. Dudley's attempt at helping her in a class that she was struggling in did not reward him with a new friend, but another day of being called a know-it-all.

Having recovered from the snippet of Dudley's life, Harry wordlessly passed his cousin some chocolate cake he had baked for one of Petunia's social gatherings. Dudley, just as quietly, munched quietly on the dessert, his blue eyes, exactly like his mother, gathering water on their edges. The two sat in silence, content with the company the other provided. Dudley was the only one to show his cousin kindness and had once even offered to help him in maths. Unfortunately for both, Vernon found out rather quickly, ending the session before it could begin. Thus, Harry Hunting began, a half-hearted Dudley attempting to appease his parents. Harry watched as Dudley as he slowly ate the cake, empathizing with how hard it was to be Dudley; to have so many expectations forced upon you would drive anybody mad. He looked away from him and fiddled with the radio, hoping to tune into a comedy duo to cheer Dudley up. When the station picked up, it only took around twenty minutes before Dudley began smiling due to the antics of the hosts.

It was at that same time when the sound of the knocker interrupted the playing radio. Harry perked up at the sound, waiting for Dudley to hurry and open the door for what could be the next step in The Sun's journey. Dudley, however, did not share his cousin's excitement. He slowly stood up from his chair, taking time to brush off the crumbs before making his way to the door. Vernon's dislike of solicitors was well known to all in the neighborhood, so it was reasonable for Dudley to suspicious of anyone willing to face his dad's wrath. Opening the door cautiously, he greeted the visitor in a clear, calm voice learned from his father, "Hello, this is the Dursley household. I'm sorry, but my parents will not be around for the next couple more hours. Could I have you return at a later time, please?"

The voice that answered his greeting was female. It was rhythmic, soft and comforting, a reminder of the lullabies. She responded, "That's quite alright young lad, you wouldn't happen to be Mister Potter, would you?" Her question was sharp and accusatory, contradicting her sweet and gentle voice.

Harry, still seated in the kitchen, lit up as The Sun warmed him from the nearby windows. Someone was here for him, and the letter was no prank. Harry felt himself sit up straighter as a weight was lifted off, he would no longer be the Hermit, no, he was moving on. In fact, he would be the true first card, his confirmation; The Magician.

As if the woman was influencing him, Dudley's response came out gentler than it usually would, the ten-year-old replying, "No ma'am, I am Dudley, Dudley Dursley."

Her reply came softer still, her tone completely abandoning the bite there just a moment ago, forgiving the boy for some transgression both boys still in the dark about, "Well it is nice to meet you, young man. I am Professor Sprout, a teacher at the school that Mister Potter will be attending."

Dudley's responded apologetically, attempting to placate the authority figure in front of him, "I am sorry ma'am, but whatever he has done to get himself in trouble at Stonewall Secondary Comprehensive, I am sure it can be replaced." Harry had his heart sink. She wasn't here from Hogwarts; she was yet another teacher believing him to be the troublemaker and delinquent everyone else saw him all. Harry felt the weight settle itself back upon his shoulders pushing his whole body into a slump as he remembered the first instance that solidified everyone's perception. He had been walking home from school, attempting to ignore the teasing he faced for not knowing his family after a, particularly insensitive family tree project. Harry had been berated by the teacher in front of the class for having only his mother's side of the family, ignoring the fact that his parents had died as an infant. Hearing one too many jokes about a lack of a real home, Harry snapped and somehow broke a bike belonging to one of the name-callers.

He tried to defend himself against the backlash, explaining he hadn't even been near the bike when it broke, but Vernon was adamant Harry face the consequences. He wove the story to the dean, about how his parents were no good drunks, and left the boy on their doorstep, expecting them to feed and clothe the boy. Now, being the fine upstanding citizens they were, they treated him just like a son at first trying to make him a valuable member of society, but alas the bad genes were so strong, nothing could be done to help him. The Dean listened to the entire rant, but still found the grounds to expel Harry, starting the beginning of his 'delinquent career' To this day, he still didn't know how he had done it. But that one action led him to resign himself to a lifetime of misfortunes blamed on him, with schools only accepting him because while he may be a bit of a menace, he still deserves to be schooled. The only good that had transpired because of the ordeal had been a result of that project. The first mention of his mother, Lily Evans. While the connection to his mother was a treasure, it wasn't enough to stave the loneliness away. He often felt like a ghost on the world, alone and without help, unable to influence the events of it in any way.

Harry was brought back from his musing by the visitor's sharp reply, "No, I am not here from, what was it Stoneywall? I am from Hogwarts, a school for magical children such as Mister Potter." The sharp bite was back, but a small bit of concern had been mixed in.

Dudley gasped at her response, giving her a scathing accusation would have made Vernon proud, "That can't be true, magic isn't real. Dad says so. He says that anyone who thinks magic is real actually worships the devil."

The woman sighed, breathing disappointment and regret into one syllable before silence settled in throughout the house. After a small eternity and what Harry imagined to be a staring contest of epic proportions, she responded in an even tone, as though it were a well-rehearsed line she had spoken many times before, "Magic is real, as are witches and wizards. We live in a society separate from your own. You, Mr. Dursley, live with one such wizard." She then spoke a short incantation, in what sounded like the Latin spoken in church, causing Dudley to gasp and a thud to reverberate around the house. "See, that is magic. Normally a muggle like yourself would never be allowed to see it, but since Harry lives with you your circumstances are different. Now, could you please show me to Harry, we have much to discuss."

After a few minutes, Dudley entered the kitchen to find Harry doing a poor job of pretending to clean a single spot on the counter. A look of wonder was plastered on the young boy's face, giving his act away, and his grin stretched from ear to ear. Dudley mumbled to Harry that he needed to go to the sitting room, walking to the stairs mumbling about pigs. Harry brushed off his clothes, suddenly very conscious of how he looked. The stares and whispers of the children at school sprang to mind, and he hurriedly tried to fix his glasses and adjust his large clothes. There was nothing to be done now, and he hoped that there was some sort of magic to help with his appearance. Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, Harry feels the gentle caress of The Sun's warmth, and, inhaling a final time, enters the sitting room.

* * *

The Hermit. The Sun. The Wheel of Fortune.

"Hello Professor Sprout, my name is Harry Potter," He sputters when he sees her, cursing himself for the rude greeting. In an attempt to make up for his mistake, he stretches out his hand in greeting, shooting his hand forward like it was shot from a bow. Unfazed, Professor Sprout firmly takes the offered hand and shakes it, revealing callused and hard hands. Her hands are the only part of her that oppose her soft voice, as their first meeting reveals a plump and motherly looking woman, with gentle visage. Comforted by her appearance, Harry inches slightly closer than the large gap he had initially left between them, breathing in the distinct smell of fertilizer and pollen, a familiar smell from his work in the garden. The kindly-looking woman seemed to be just shorter than Petunia, gazing at him with warm hazel eyes. They glimmer at the anticipation of meeting him, inciting whispers saying, 'the boy-who-lived' to crawl around his head.

"Please have a seat." He offered, gesturing to Petunia's chair while sitting on the couch. The epithet puts a furrow in Harry's brow, wondering what such a title could have to do with him and their meeting. The woman took the proffered chair, doing as asked while keeping her eyes on him. He felt a sense of unease creeping over his body, but it wasn't from himself. Something about Harry was making the house guest nervous, but Harry couldn't decipher the reason any further than its relation to 'the boy-who-lived'.

"Hello, Mister Potter. As I am sure you have heard, I am Professor Sprout from Hogwarts. Hogwarts received your acceptance letter and I was the lucky Professor to have read it first," She began triumphantly, warmly smiling at him with pride, her features lit up. Harry already liked her, appreciative of how she wore her emotions on her face and heart on her sleeve. She continued, "I would like to take you shopping today if that is alright. For your school supplies, I assume you got the supply list?"

"Yes ma'am, I would like that very much," He responded with a smile, radiant as the sun.

* * *

The Sun.

The pair shortly thereafter made their way outside. The duo content walking out into the warm afternoon air. Attempting to look around for the professor's automobile, Harry turned every which way. Seeing no car out of place he looked at Professor Sprout expectantly, she must've traveled by other, more magical, means. He voices his question with his expression tightening, afraid to offend her by asking. Fearing one misstep would end their trip before it could officially begin.

She surprises him, laughing heartily at the question before saying, "I forget the ignorance of the muggle-raised sometimes, and certainly didn't expect it from you, Mr. Potter. You see, there are many methods of travel in our world, with Floo, broomsticks, and apparition being the most popular. However, how I arrived here is not nearly as important as how we are getting to Diagon Alley." She pulls a piece of wood, around a foot long, out of her sleeve and sticks it out with purpose.

Immediately, the sound of squealing tires erupts from down the street, where it had been empty before. Much faster than the recommended speed limit, a purple triple-decker came speeding into view. Harry's mouth was on the floor, in disbelief by the sudden appearance of a bus coming into existence from nothing. It came closer, closing in on their position, showing no sign of slowing down and stopping. Then, just as the bus seemed like it would ignore them about to move past them, the large, multi-tonne vehicle comes to a full stop with a large crack and a puff of smoke. His first demonstration of magic, other than what he overheard from the kitchen, Harry's eyes shine and a lighthearted happiness bubbles in his chest. The large doors soon open to reveal a young woman reading from a tabloid, a peculiar issue proclaiming _Most Eligible Bachelor Gilderoy Lockhart Back in Britain, Who He's With Will SHOCK You_ on the cover.

"Where to?" She asked, despondently, her brown eyes never leaving the magazine. Harry looks around taking note of his neighbor's making no reaction to the purple bus. A jogger across the street continues to run, not even a single glance at the vehicle that stands out next to the well-kept lawns of Privet Drive.

Wagging her finger slightly at the young woman, Professor Sprout sternly reprimands her, "Ms. Wilson, we have known each other for how long now? Is that any way to greet an old friend?" Startled, Ms. Wilson looks up from her magazine, doing a double-take when she sees Professor Sprout and breaking into a large, beautiful smile. Slipping the book away she gives the professor a large hug, closing her eyes tightly in the embrace.

"Professor, you know you can call me Julia," She chided back, still caught up in the hug. Harry shifts his weight back and forth, stumbling slightly on his left leg, not knowing what else to do during the reunion.

"Just like how you've stopped calling me Professor?" She rebuked in mirth. Though he couldn't see her face, Harry felt the affection in her voice as if it were tangible, sweet and warm like honey. Professor Sprout finally released Julia, keeping her hands clasped on her shoulders, looking the young woman up and down. Blushing at the attention, Julia stared down at her feet. Professor Sprout spoke softly, "Ms. Wilson, if I remember correctly, you were going to go into agriculture. I even gave a recommendation to Bovaline Farms. What are you doing on the Knight Bus?"

Julia blushed again, a deeper reaction than due to the initial scrutiny. Looking at her, Harry felt blood rush to his cheeks as well, the feeling of shame flooding into him from her. Underneath the surface, he felt tears begin to prickle his eyes, a feeling of loss mixed in.

"Well you see," She began, tapering off. Blinking hard, Julia continued, "I met this wizard from Yorks Public while working there, and we dated for a bit. He wasn't the type of man he said he was, so I broke things off." Her attempt at holding back the tears finally failed, dripping into the rest of her explanation, "It was messy; under normal circumstances working together would be a nightmare. Then, it turns out he was the president's nephew, and things escalated from there. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, and I quit." Taking a moment to compose herself before continuing with her story, Julia wipes off her tears, and takes several deep breaths, looking composed and together in a surprisingly short amount of time. A wave of tears threatens to hit Harry, exposing the lie that her face is telling. "So, I got this job as an in-between while I look for other employment. Besides, I've always liked plants more than animals. Just last week I sent in my resume to Irish Enterprise, so hopefully, I will get an interview soon," She finishes her story with a false cheery tone, still internally distraught over admitting her failings to her old teacher.

Professor Sprout, who had remained quiet during the entire story, pulled Julia forward and initiated a second hug with her, this one deeper and even more heartfelt. As touching as the moment was, Harry had to fight the urge to turn away, feeling like an intruder on such a private moment. "You were very brave to do that my dear, and, if you need it, I can write another letter of recommendation. You may not believe it, but my word has a little bit of say." Professor Sprout said pulling away to look her in the eye. Julia laughed at the last sentence, a far cry from how she had been recounting her story.

Composing herself once more, she cleared her throat saying, "Well it was nice to see you again Professor." Looking down she saw Harry, her eyes widened slightly seeing a third member of their party, flushing again at the realization that he had heard the sob story. "Two to the Leaky Cauldron I'm guessing. Muggleborn?" She asked. At Professor Sprout's nod of confirmation, she pulled her wand out and spoke in another language, followed by, "Two for the Leaky Cauldron." A number flashed in bold blue, boldly proclaiming '17 knuts'

The Professor opened a pouch hanging on her hip, calling out the number before dropping the contents in a small bin as she entered the bus. "Come along Mister Pot- young man," She called, stopping herself from saying Harry's name. Tilting his head, he followed behind her. Did she dislike him already? It was as if for every new thing introduced, two more questions took its place. Quelling the thought, he entered the bus, moving to the seats on the side. Professor Sprout took her seat, and Harry copied her next to him. She began, "So Harry-may I call you Harry?" Though confused at being addressed so informally, especially when she still referred to Julia as 'Ms. Wilson'. Opening his mouth to ask, a glare of sunlight hit directly in his eye, warning him to stop his intended line of questioning. Listening to The Sun, he agreed. At Harry's nod, she continued, "Do you have any questions for me? I realize this may be a lot to take in."

"Actually, Professor Sprout, I was wondering, how will I buy everything today? I don't exactly have money, and I especially do not have any 'nuts'." Harry had been wondering this since he got his letter, as it made no mention of tuition fees, something uncommon for an obviously exclusive school.

The professor looked at him softly, asking, "Do you not have your key? If not, I'm sure they can get you a new one." Harry was confused, key? She continued before he could voice his confusion, "And our world uses a different system of money since we have near-autonomous economies to that of our non-magical brethren. Though we do follow some of their ways, just recently we switched our ratios of Knuts, Sickles, and Galleons. From 29 Knuts per Sickle and 17 Sickles per Galleon to 100 and 50 respectfully. Much easier to work with. Sometimes these muggles do have the right ideas." The last remark was uttered low, Harry could barely make out the words sitting next to her. She took a deep breath and turned to him, "Anything else?"

"Yes actually, are there tuition fees? Where is the school? Is it horribly out of the way, I would hate to have Vernon drive me every day," Harry rambled, already flinching at his punishment for what he was doing today, and beginning to shake at the thought of how angry Vernon would be if he had to rely on him for transportation every day.

The kind professor smiled at him, answering all his questions patiently, "The day you were born, James and Lily paid your tuition in full, and Hogwarts is a boarding school in Scotland, Harry." The rather stoic face Harry had been wearing all day broke after hearing her speak that one sentence. Another large smile, crooked teeth and all emerged and threatened to split his face in half. He had known that his mother's name was Lily, but this was the first he had heard of his father's, James. The first real connection he Harry had ever felt to his dad, he could imagine James holding him, protecting him, loving him, acting to him as Vernon acted towards Dudley. It clicked. His parents were magical like him. His parents went to the same school he would be going to, had possibly taken the knight bus before and sat in the same seat he sat in. His knowledge of his parents had grown more in one day than in the past ten years. It was truly magical.

He was about to ask more about his parents when Julia announced their arrival at, "The Ministry of Magic". As the bus came to a halt, the sun, peeking out behind a building, momentarily blinded into Harry. The Sun was warning him about the parent's topic, so instead, he decided to ask about the school itself.

"Will I have to do placement tests for my Maths and such?" He asked, silently hoping the answer was no, he didn't want to have to be outshone by more Dudley's.

"We do not teach Maths at Hogwarts," She responded, much to Harry's relief. "Instead, the classes you shall take first year should be Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, History, Astrology, Potions, Transportation, and Preservation against the Darker aspects of Magic," She continued, reciting the list like it were a common question. Again, Harry was confused, wondering why he had to go to his school if none of them were taught at Hogwarts. The last class seemed to be quite the mouthful. The class list just made Harry confused, what of everything he had learned until now. With a knowing smile, Professor Sprout answered his unasked question, "These classes incorporate aspects of Languages, Sciences, Maths, and English. Meaning that it was needed to go to school."

Before she could continue, Harry asked a clarifying question, "What is the presser… verses the Dark Stuff?" He looked down, flushing slightly for already forgetting the name of the class. Peeking up, Harry was met by a somber and mournful look instead of her usual smile.

"The teaching position seems to be cursed. The Headmaster believed that by changing the name of the course, the curse could be bypassed, but to no avail; the previous teacher of the class vanished," Professor Sprout explained quietly, her resolve failing on the last statement, a small waterfall of tears careening down her face. Like running into a brick wall, the realization that Harry had indirectly caused his professor's current state hit him in the face. The previous professor had likely been close friends with Professor Sprout and was likely dead.

"I am sorry Professor, for your-" his apology was cut off as Julia announced that they had arrived at 'The Ministry of Magic, Norwich Branch'. Slightly bewildered, Harry looked outside, noticing the classic older buildings of Norwich, a far cry from the Surrey suburbia he had left. The distance traveled between the two was far too great in too short a time for any regular type of transformation and was just concluding the presence of magic as the Professor wiped away the last of her tears.

"It is quite alright young man, not something you should be worrying about. Did you have any other questions?" She asked, looking much more collected than she had moments before. Remembering the last question, he had asked had hurt the sweet woman helping him, he debated whether or not he should continue his line of questioning. After a few moments of internally going back and forth, a word that Julie had mentioned to Professor Sprout popped into his mind, a 'muggleborn.'

"One more, I think, what is a muggleborn?" He found himself asking, already done with the question before he had decided to voice it. Harry cursed his lack of self-control, his slip-ups usually rare occurrences.

Professor Sprout looked at him with a furrowed brow, her tone coming out slightly uncertain as to why she had to explain it, "Well, a muggleborn is someone like your mother: a wizard or witch who has no magical parents" The implications struck Harry, if only his mother was a muggleborn, then his father must've been born to at least one magical. Why then had Harry been raised with Vernon and Petunia? Given a choice, Harry would have picked any magical relatives, or any other relatives really.

Slipping into a slight daydream that he had been raised in the magical world, filled with laughter and flying brooms, Harry was startled out of it as he was struck by a strange thought. "Sorry, but I think I actually have another question; why do muggles not know about magic?" He asked. If magic was real, how could problems in everyday life exist, surely there were spells that could help those who couldn't cast it themselves?

"You will learn this in History of Magic, but in 1692, due to years of bloody encounters, between muggles and wizards, The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was enacted. The combined forces of wizards across the globe cast wove a web of spells over the world that caused everyone without magic to forget that it existed but did not stop later discovery of magic for the muggleborn. It's really interesting actually, as the spells utilized a sort of modified Fidelius charm.," She explained, her voicing getting faster and bursting with excitement over the prospect of explaining the intricacies of the methods the wizards had employed. Just as Harry's eyes were about to glaze over, the bus stopped suddenly, and Julia called out that they had reached the 'Leaky Cauldron'.

The Professor immediately stood and began walking off the bus. Harry dutifully followed, standing behind her while she said partings to the young witch. The pair made their way into a dingy pub, not the place Harry had in mind as the start of his magical adventure. Entering the building, a man behind the bar greeted Professor Sprout warmly through the murmur of the pub. He was of average height, but his smile distinguished him, filled with warmth and welcome, giving off an aura shimmering with kindness. "Pomona, in for a drink?" He asked in a slightly Scottish accent.

"Sorry Tom, I've got one new to the Alley today," She responded, her voice carrying clearly across the room.

"Oh, a new muggleborn eh? Well, the name's Tom. Welcome to the wizarding world," he said, smiling down at Harry. Others followed his lead, doffing their caps or waving cheerfully. However, a few looked at him with disdain; one man sitting at the bar looked downright murderous.

"Filthy Mudbloods, taking all the jobs," he muttered loud enough for everyone around him to hear, provoking a reaction out of Tom.

"That's enough outta you Nott. I don't care if you've lost your job or not, that language is unacceptable and not tolerated in my pub," He said, the warmth in his eyes dimming as he turned towards 'Nott'. Those who had greeted Harry kindly shared Tom's sentiment, looking at the man with complete and utter disgust. Tom continued, "If I hear that again you'll be banned from this establishment, and I'll be sure to let others know as well."

As the rest of the patrons began adding their two cents, Professor Sprout grabbed Harry's hand, not noticing the flinch that it provoked, and led him to the back of the pub. Grabbing her stick again, she tapped four different bricks, each with small numbers chiseled into them, causing the wall to disassemble and create an archway. The sunlight that spilled through the newly created doorway was radiant, though nothing compared to the sight that was Diagon Alley.

* * *

The Sun.

Stepping into the sun and through the arch, Harry was bombarded by the image of a narrow street bustling with life. The street itself was an old-fashioned, cobble road, somehow very clean despite the traffic. The people walking to and fro were dressed very strangely, in apparel nearly indistinguishable between the men and woman. They all wore cloaks that hung just past the knees, an unpractical choice considering the unusually warm air that the summer given in the typically rainy England, with every color of the rainbow represented by those in the crowd. Underneath the robes many wore a strange blend of clothes; amongst the sea of people, Harry could see one particularly distinguishable woman dressed in an ugly, yellow, floral patterned top with purple and green dungarees. Most had also donned hats, a gamut beginning with small caps and ending with wearable perches that had real animals atop them. It was bizarre, the experience of stepping into a new world so similar yet so different.

Harry felt his jaw touch the floor as he looked further than the people in front of him. The buildings, it seemed, were just as diverse and unusual. A row of shops stretched in front of him and the street he was on, defying many of the laws of physics. One such shop, Wrights Right Wears, had a display of hats completely arched over the alley touching down on both sides of the street. The lack of doors momentarily threw him off, until he witnessed several shoppers walk directly through a window, unfazed by the absurdity of it. Other shops, like Agatha's Animal Apothecary, seemed to be just large enough to store a few of its ingredients in a storage closet, but on further inspection seemed to be much bigger inside with its winding shelves and gaggle of customers. An image of a blue police box came into his mind, tempting him to exclaim about the doctor and a sonic screwdriver, but he pushed the temptation down. His eyes darted from storefront to storefront, trying to take in every bit of detail, even as he remained rooted in place, mouth catching flies. If this was a dream, it was an exceptionally imagined dream and He impressed himself with his imagination. Professor Sprout let him gape at the world he had been introduced to, her smile directed more towards the shine in Harry's eyes than at the Alley.

After a few moments, and a few nudges by impatient shoppers, the professor began slowly walking forward. Harry followed absently, paying too much attention to everything around him to notice their movement. A few other streets branched off from the main Alleyway: Knockturn, Upturn, Loud, Cross-section, the names continued well past the dimensions of the post the names were hung off of. At the intersection of Cross-section and Diagon Alley, the pair found their first stop. Their destination was a large white building, standing at least four stories tall held up by large marble pillars going up. The steps matched the marble of the pillars, and the face building seemed to be made from a single, smooth piece of quartz. A short poem was engraved in gold on the door, flanked by two statues in full plate armor. They stood at the same height as Harry, holding massive spears made of a strange silvery metal. Harry moved closer, his eyes gliding over the smooth, gold inscription.

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn,

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

As he finished reading, a movement caught his eye: the statue had moved. Harry began to stare at what he thought had been made of stone, correctly guessing a similarity to the Queen's Foot Guards in how they stood. The rationalization, however, did not prevent Harry from giving his best fish impression, his eyes glued to guards, Seeing this, and hoping to shake Harry from his current predicament, Professor Sprout opened the doors to reveal an interior as dazzling as the exterior.

The room was as wide as the outside had suggested. The floor was paved in solid gold, pillars of silver erupting every ten meters. Between the pillars were mahogany desks taller than any man that Harry believed possible. The walls, instead of another precious metal, were made from dark wood and the paneling led up to the large domed ceiling. Windows that had not been seen from outside were scattered around the room, lighting the space. Not unlike a cathedral, the windows were stained glass, giving a reddish tint to the light in the room. Thousands of battle scenes were depicted on the stained glass, ferocious-looking creatures fighting with medieval weapons. The warmth from the windows reached Harry, softly reminding him he was on the correct path.

The creatures in the stained glass were very similar to those behind the tall desks as well. They all seemed to be cut from gems, their features sharp and hard. The sickly color of their skin gave the impression of trapped and swirling sulfur and, given the slightly rotten egg smell, the sulfur had more to do with their appearance than a first glance would have one assume. Professor Sprout led him to an open desk, gesturing for Harry to sit in the chair opposite of the creature. He paid no attention to the duo and their antics at first. Upon sitting in the chair, it propelled him up so that he was sitting slightly lower than the teller. It looked at him and spoke, its teeth glinting dangerously in the red light, "What business brings you to Gringotts today." It folded its hands and looked at Harry expectantly. At first, Harry assumed it was annoyed, looking like how Vernon often did at him, a glance in his eyes showed that its no-nonsense manner was simply a matter of how it was.

Harry looked down out of habit, confessing softly, "I don't actually know." Cringing at speaking so informally, he corrected himself quickly, "I mean, I do not know, sir."

Professor Sprout used his statement as her opportunity to interject softly, "Harry, this is the wizarding bank, Gringotts. This is where we can get your key and access your money." Harry much preferred her soft and musical voice to the sharp and brusque voice the teller had used, too much like Vernon.

About to respond, Harry was cut off as the creature spoke again, "Unfortunately, I cannot help with a new key, here is your number we will call you when you are ready." The chair suddenly floated back down to the floor. Harry hopped off, following Professor Sprout to the middle of the bank.

"What are they ma'am, if I can ask that. They aren't human right?" he asked nervously, hoping he wasn't being rude or disrespectful.

The professor was quick to answer, her voice adopting a malicious tone that did not suit her, "They are goblins, Harry, they are the race that wizards most commonly do battle against, wizards notwithstanding." It was apparent that she did not like the goblins, and Harry would be hard-pressed to disagree with the sentiment. However, just as he thought this, the same voice that reprimanded him for disbelieving in magic spoke once more, "Yet, you are also mistreated for being different, is that any different?'. As he thoughtfully digested the question, a voice rang out, as though through an intercom, "now serving number 83." The voice was different from the goblin who had helped them, warm like the sun in the evening. Harry hoped this meant his next experience would be as positive as before.

* * *

It wasn't. Curse The Sun.

Professor Sprout brought him to the main counter, presenting the number to the teller, "83 here for key replacement." The goblin looked down at her, tilting his head at a small gate. The gesture caused the gate to open, and Professor Sprout led Harry to it. Beyond the gate was a seemingly infinite hallway. The doors opened out, strangely enough, demonstrated by the third door on his left, into which Harry was led into. After walking him in, Professor Sprout left, the door closing behind him. Again, a totally different layout than before, Harry stepped into a warm room resembling the room Harry had written his response letter. What was days ago felt like years for the small boy, so many events had transpired since then? Shaking his head, Harry focused back on the present, at the goblin sitting in a large ornate chair. Harry was about to greet him politely when the goblin spoke,

"Affairs between goblins and families can only be held between goblins and families. As you need a key, this is a family affair." He put one of his hands on the table, showing off his sharp nails. "Take a seat. I am Gugkrat," the goblin introduced himself. Harry immediately did as he was told, sitting in the simple chair, in comparison, opposite the goblin. "Who is the key for?" Gugkrat asked gruffly. Harry wondered if they were attempting to be intimidating or if the stained glass was a correct demonstration of their direct manner.

"Harry Potter?" His voice trembled, asking more than telling. The goblin continued, not caring about the inflection used to answer his question,

"Date of Birth?" Harry slowly answered, and the goblin proceeded to pull out a quill and a long piece of parchment covered with letters Harry did not recognize. "Sign here," He instructed, pointing to a line, "That is a blood quill, a cursed item, it will hurt to write with it." Harry did so obediently. Gugkrat snatched the parchment away and walked over to a letter slip, pushing it through. "We have a few minutes Mr. Potter; do you have any questions about Gringotts that I can help with?" the goblin asked, his tone implying the answer better be negative. Harry was about to say no, eager to end the meeting. He imagined that is what The Sun wanted, as no ray of light had spilled onto him during his contemplation of the decision. That is, he assumed so until the goblin knocked over a small bowl, dead insects falling to the ground. With three landing legs in the air, and four with their back to the ceiling, his answer was changed; he trusted cleromancy.

"Yes, sir. The money system, what is its conversion to Pound Sterling?" Harry inquired.

"A knut is worth 20 pence, a sickle comes in at 20 pounds, making a Galleon worth 1,000 pounds," the Goblin answered, looking annoyed at the conversation being continued. Harry felt slightly dazed, this world used such extreme amounts of currency. Gugkrat continued, "For example, I believe Hogwarts tuition is seven and a half Galleons a year or about 7,500 pounds a year."

"What is the interest rate that Gringotts provides?" Harry asked, trying to match the pointed talking style of the goblins and failing immensely. Gugkrat glared at the young boy in front of him, sharpening his tone as he responded.

"Gringotts bank does not have interest, nor does it have holding fees; good for an account like yours, which has done nothing but sit for 10 years." Harry wondered why this was, voicing his confusion aloud.

"Do you not invest the money in the bank?"

The goblin gave him a hard stare, spitting out his words at Harry, "The Goblin Nation does not see it fit to gamble with the precious items that we are given to protect. Investing would be foolish."

"Then how do you get money?" Harry questioned; the goblin's responses were contradicting everything he had overheard Vernon teach Dudley about money matters.

"The goal of Gringotts bank is not to make money, it is to protect it," Gugkrat defended.

"Why is that?" Harry asked bravely, excited to have finally reached the heart of the matter. The goblin took a moment before speaking,

"Goblins do not reproduce. A goblin is brought into this world when a certain amount of magical gold is held within one place. However, the gold must be infused with a wizard's magic to bring a goblin. Thus, it is in the best interest of The Goblin Nation to hold as much gold as we can," The goblin said without changing the expression, or lack thereof, on his face. His tone was even, riling up Harry at the strange and rather farfetched response. Replying to what Gugkrat had explained, Harry realized he didn't know if what he was just told was the truth or a lie, he was unable to read his emotions. It was a very odd feeling, not knowing. Fighting to return his heart rate to normal, he took calm steadying breaths, hoping that the world of magic didn't end up destroying what little he had.

A knock on the door sounded in the room, preceding another goblin entering. Stretching out his arm towards Harry, he presented what was in his hands: a shining, gold key.

The Sun.

* * *

**AN: I will try to update every week on Monday. The next chapter is done and just needs to be betaed (which is the most time-consuming part of the process). Thank you for reading. Please review, I want to know what you like, what you don't, and how I can improve as a writer. Feel free to even give me a review about how much it sucks, every bit helps! **


	4. Chapter 3: The Sun II

**Chapter Three: The Sun II**

**AN 1: I have written a prologue. I am not certain where the link will bring you when you click my update, if it is here, sorry not a new chapter, the new chapter is in the chapter one spot. It is a brief writing from Dumbledore's perspective on the tragic Halloween. I thought I would use it to show some differences in my world and to have more things happening then what happens in The Hermit. **

**AN 2: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. At this point, I have completed through chapter 5. This story idea that I have is a Harry who is not good at wand magic but excels at esoteric magic, namely divination, enchanting, necromancy, and blood magic. He will never be able to stand toe to toe with Tom Riddle or even Snape as a duelist, he will never be able to transfigure like McGonagall or even Cedric. This will be a story with Harry in more of a supportive role but will have to defeat Tom Riddle. Note I enjoy naming characters. If they speak, they will most likely have a name. That does not mean that they are a major player, or even that you need to remember it. I am still short a beta, this chapter will be of a lower quality than the previous two. Please contact me if running over phrasing and grammar (as well as making sure that I used the correct homophone) for this story would be interesting for you, it would help a lot. I did not gain permission to use McDonald's in this story, all rights are reserved for McDonald's.**

* * *

Chapter Three: The Sun II

* * *

The Sun.

Harry was thankful for the sudden interruption to his current conversation, both goblin and human staring at the new being that had just entered the room. The new goblin upon further evaluation looked slightly different from Gugkrat, his nose slimmer, ears shorter, his brow less defined. Overall, if Harry had to choose, he would spend time with the new entry then with his current counterpart. This was definitely due to appearance and had nothing to do with the rising tension of their previous conversation, Harry decided to inform himself. Gugkrat eyes cut into both the new entry and Harry, the yellow masses inflamed with fury, his eyes flickering between an elegant silver sword on his wall and the new occupant of the room.

The new goblin was unfazed by the situation and merely called for Harry to follow him, his cool eyes indifferent to the malice of Gugkrat, which Harry wasted no time in complying with. Jumping out of his chair he said a quick thank you to Gugkrat and gave a quick polite bow, muttering something about being sorry for being so rude. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and bolted from the room and back in the endless hallway. His new companion led him back from the way they had entered, to the main room of the bank.

Despite seeing the cathedral-like room before the sight still stopped him in his tracks. He wondered at the sight, the light ever painting the room in a myriad of soft, warm colors. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful piece of architecture he had ever seen. Harry was sure if he devoted the rest of his life to find a place more beautiful, he would be wasting the rest of his life. Upon reexamining the room his eyes fell on the form of his future professor. The pair made eye contact despite being so far separated, and the good professor gave Harry a small and reassuring smile. Harry decided that that would have to be enough for him to continue.

His new escort wasted no time and continued his path, his pace never wavering, his small strides quicker than Harry's own. Seeing the goblin flee from his peripheral Harry quickened his pace to be in step with the yellowed creature. Eventually, the duo had moved behind the counters and into a small railyard. The darkened room full of stone and misplaced debris was in direct contrast to the pristine hall they had just been in, with no door to transition them. It was as if the room prior had been built upon the mouth of a cave. The goblin continued forward and into a mining cart, configured with cushions. Harry's companion sat in the back gripping tight to the break bar with one hand, pushing his other taloned appendage in a violent way forward. Harry tried to decipher what the goblin wanted. As he stood there, confused, the goblin finally took pity on him, or was perhaps too angry to continue waiting, "Sit in the cart so that we may get your gold, sir." The way he hissed at Harry was condescending. His tone carried with it a sense of importance, as if he was of more use to the world and Harry wasn't good enough to clean his shoes.

Harry wondered whether it was a good idea or not to enter the cart, but the growing hostility on his guide's face was enough to make the answer for him, scurrying into the cart he took a seat. "My name is Brunrak and I will be your supervisor today, we are going to vault 687, does Mr. Potter have anything to declare." As if the goblin was reading from a script he repeated the line, much like a fast-food worker when asking for your order, it came from a place of false happiness, this was discounting how Brunrak was a worse actor then the sixteen-year-olds at McDonald's. Thinking of the food place reminded Harry of his skipped meals for the day, hunger moving into his mind. The goblin took his silence as an answer and the cart slowly pushed forward. That was until they hit what was the mouth of a cave and dropped.

Harry was sure the speed they had just hit was terminal velocity, the wind ripping at his face, the walls blending into one blur, and eventually disappearing into the dark entirely. Every so often Harry would lurch into the side of the cart, surprised to not feel hard steel but instead a soft plush. A cornucopia of sounds echoed throughout the tunnels, the hard steel on steel of the cart over the tracks, the sound of roaring and yelling, and various other animalistic sounds. As time had faded, he had no clue how long the trip had taken, he and Brunrak were stopped. Brunrak lit a lantern illuminating the chamber they were in. There seemed to be no landmarks that discern their current position from any other, but he assumed that is why the goblin was escorting him. Getting out of the cart Harry heaved onto the stone floor. Collecting himself he looked at Brunrak who looked back at him in disdain. Harry grew smaller at the look causing the goblin to grow a cruel smile. The beast then started down a natural hallway, his shadow casting a large monstrous shape behind him, Harry dutifully following. The two walked in silence, far cry from the sounds of the cart ride was the pitter of footfall echoing into the soft nothing.

Harry's heart began to accelerate, was he to be killed for his rudeness, was the sharp-toothed monster going to kill and eat him. His muscles tightened, ready to do what he needed to get to safety. Would Professor Sprout save him, did she even care, she left him with this thing. Harry's disgust with the humanoid was only growing the longer they walked, why was such a vial thing entrusted with money, the lifeblood of the world. He should kill the miserable bugger, preemptively start the pest extermination. Harry took a moment and stopped, breathing deeply, pushing the thoughts away, confused about how they had come to him. He had done this before, always when he least expected it, at times his mind was not on guard. It was often the reason he believed the Dursleys when they called him a freak, he knew what he thought was wrong. After calming himself, breathing like he was about to do cleromancy, the murderous instinct left him, but the distrust of Brunrak never fled him.

"Stop." Brunrak suddenly announced, stopping in front of the wall. Pressing his small, acute, fingers against the wall, dragging them in a short pattern. In response to the caress, the wall creaked. The wall then began to open revealing an offshoot chamber. The cavern was the size of Dudley's spare room and matched the hall they currently were in, a dark and tight tomb of rock. Stepping into the room a dozen torches blazed to life, illuminating the contents of the room.

Seated in the middle of the floor was a large ornate chest. The chest was made from dark wood and banded in a silver gleamed metal. Sitting directly above the break was an elaborate design, depicting a shield surrounded by green curling vines which spring from a full plate helm above the shield. The shield is green with a silver arrow pointed up. In addition to the arrow are three animals on it, the top left housed a griffin, colored in purple, next to it a lion in blue, finally a stag in red. An inscription in a language he was not aware of was written upon a banner.

Approaching the large box revealed a keyhole that perfectly matched his key. Turning the key until it clicked allowed Harry to push up the lid, surprised at the lightness of it, slowly brushing over the elaborate symbol. As the lid opened Harry debated what he had known before, as maybe magic was not his sun. Reflecting what was all of the light in the room, bathing Harry in a golden glow, was a large collection of golden coins. He could feel the power of such a collection of money. It was not the same as his book or the cards, it was a subtle humming. As if it was calling out into the world for something, it was powerful but subtle. As he began running his hands through them, feeling the soft metal, he understood why the goblins would not invest it, it was a beautiful thing to be treasured, to be held, to be protected.

The lid of the chest held three different items, two buckets, and a baggie. Harry grasped the bag and turned to the goblin, sheepishly questioning him, "I don't know how much I will be needing sir, and I would hate to have to come back and waste more of your time." Harry knew that appealing to the disdain that Brunrak held for him would get him the answers he wanted. He was not disappointed at his small attempt at manipulation.

Brunrak sneered at him, hissing in response, "You will need a few galleons, less than five, but also clear out the sickles and knuts." Harry looked at the chest for the bronze coinage, eventually locating it in one of the buckets, with silver pieces next to it. Shoving all the lowered valued currency in the bag, as well as five of the gold pieces. A whirling wind sound reverberated in the room. Investigating despite the hard task of finding the direction in the echoing room found the sound came from a corner of the trunk, along the edge of the seal, hidden when the chest is closed. Looking closely at the ridge a combination lock like object sat displaying 0005101G 000S 000K. He gingerly closed the sack and the chest. Carefully removing the key and placing it in the bag, putting the large strap around his neck, not feeling the weight of coinage. Harry took one last look at the stunning treasure chest before leaving the room, weary to leave the powerful coins behind. The goblin muttered something in a sweet-sounding language closing the room off again, leaving only the smooth piece of indistinguishable wall.

Again, in silence, they returned to the cart. Harry kept on guard the entire trip to the cart, jumping at the strange sounds and menacing shadows. As before the ride was thrilling, but Harry was worried and could not focus on his ride. Ever since he had discovered his divinations the thoughts of doing horrid acts had left him, so much that he had nearly forgotten them, yet seeing the cursed looking humanoids had brought it back in full force, making an effort to quench the demonic thought. He sat tight and rigid at the prospect of him reverting to the thoughts, of letting it run free, he remembered the horror of the younger years: slip poison in Petunias drink, smother Dudley so his incessant snoring stops, take the knife and thin out your uncle. He often felt like a stranger in his walking in his skin when those thoughts began, it was horrifying, the thoughts themself not making him sick, and for that reason alone he felt sick. His trail of thoughts ended as they had reached the surface, welcomed by the blistering bright light of the world. The sun itself purging his body and mind of the dark thoughts. Taking more than a few seconds to orientate himself Harry glanced around the room. Other people were led by goblins to carts to go down the way he had just come from, none looked happy to be sharing the sulfured smelling creatures' company, none looked trustful of them.

Harry did not thank Brunrak for his service, somehow the goblin had beaten his decidedly low expectations into the dirt and caused him to like the thing less than Gugkrat. Gugkrat was honest and frontward, Brunrak was a creature of deceit. It seemed both parties wanted to be out of the other company with great haste. Rushing into the atrium Harry approached his soft-featured professor, thankful to see her kind form, even if still surrounded by the sharp-featured goblins.

"How did it go?" She asked him, her soft voice filling the boy with cleansing relaxation.

"It was great."

* * *

The Sun.

The duo was again out on the spilling streets of the Ally, being prepared this time Harry avoided gawking at everything in his view. Despite that, the sight of a small puppet show with self-aware puppets harassing the puppeteer was enough to make him laugh with the rest of the small children clogging the street to watch, the man's clothing even more colorful and extravagant than the common folk. The sun had begun to sink below the tops of the buildings that hugged the street, it's warmth going with it. Professor Sprout brought the boy to some basic shops, dropping a full galleon on a combination of his trunk and telescope.

Following that he was led to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Inside the quaint shop, there were a few witches and wizards of various ages, each specifically tending to their personal customer. The customers also had a variety of ages with some being as young as Harry looked. Harry was pulled from his musing as Professor Sprout greeted one of the occupants of the room.

"Ah, Filius I had not expected to see you today." The man she addressed looked to be a smoothed-out goblin as if his hard corners had been worked by a master craftsman, his voice was much like his appearance, taking the harsh goblin sounds and fitting them into a less harsh voice.

"Well Pomona, I could say the same to you." He jested back. "I have the wonderful honor of escorting Mr. Dean Thomas over there and his mother Charlotte." He pointed first to a tall black boy then turning his finger on a beautiful woman with the same coloration.

"It's nice to meet you, I am Pomona Sprout, the Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts and head of the Hufflepuff house." She greeted the woman curtly with a forced smile. "This is Harry," she pointed at the small boy who slumped at the attention, "He is also his first year."

Filius perked up at this. Harry looked into his eyes and got a flash of the same 'the-boy-who-lived'. That was all he was able to ascertain before the goblin-like-man broke eye contact with him, looking confused. "As in-"

Professor Sprout cut him off before he could continue, "The very same, so I am not of the opinion to advertise it." She said in a commanding tone. It was at that moment that a woman in her early 40's approached Harry and led him into the room. The lady had a nametag declaring her to be Doris. He was being measured with a magical tape with the lady noting the dimensions. Looking to his right to avoid the embarrassment of being scrutinized in such a way he saw another young person. This time a girl with a cute face, freckled, with straight chestnut hair. He didn't realize he was staring until she cleared her voice.

"Is there something on my face?" She admonished the boy with her tone, despite only asking a question.

"No, no you are fine." He looked away feeling his cheeks warm up, attempting to fix his mistake he offered conversation. "I am Harry, this is my first year, I am going to Hogwarts." He said, still not looking back.

"Gemma Ansley," her response was curt, "And I am going to Hedgeridge, I should be glad to be away from all the muggleborns in that falling school I guess." Glancing back at her made him wish he hadn't as she was giving him a hard glare. That was until she noticed both the person working on him and the one on her giving hard looks at the young woman. She looked away, her face hard and unflinching.

The pair did not speak again, and Harry couldn't bring himself to look at her. Eventually, after what felt an eternity, his tailor brought out a cart full of clothes, in addition to his required three robes, cloak, and hat, the young man also asked for three sets of shirts and slacks, with a pair of shoes as well. She handed the batch over asking for his name to go on the uniform.

"Harry Potter." He answered and the lady chuckled.

"I was being serious young man." She said through her glee, as if in an attempt to reprimand him, but failing.

"So was I, my name is Harry Potter." He said the sentence so quietly that the rest of the store could not hear it. Was something wrong with his name?

She gave the boy a quick glare, muttering something about a funeral, and spelled the name on the clothing. Giving him a large number of clothes, glaring at him she let the boy go. Moving back to the professor saw her standing alone. The second professor, Filius, and the Thomas's have finished and departed already. Seeing his approach, she reached down and opened his trunk for his new apparel to go inside. Dumping the multi sickle purchase in the trunk he hurried out of the store, for the first time leading the kind professor, wondering how he had gotten two people upset at him already.

After that stop the day started to blur, going to various shops to get various necessities, and his stomach started to growl. Hearing it his companion stopped, just after the two had exited the Potage's Potions Shop (all your potions needs in one place), asking if he was hungry. Answering in the affirmative she asked him another question.

"Would you like to get your wand first?"

Thinking about it, he decided that the food needed to wait. He assumed the wand was how Professor Sprout had done all the amazing things today and the sooner he had one the better. She led him to a tall shop that curved over the street, looming over it. The store had no windows and was called Ollivanders. Harry took a step inside and again found himself alone. Taking another step into the room he looked around the long shop. Directly in front of him was the counter with rows and rows of shelves behind it. In the middle of the counter was a single bell. Ringing it he waited. He was still alone, wondering the merits of going to get the food he wanted. That was until he heard a soft voice behind him, which was odd since the door he came in was directly behind him and still closed.

"Mr. Potter, I had wondered when I would find you here to buy your wand." It was a masculine voice which despite its tone carried through the store, "I wonder if you will be like your father, Mahogany, 11 inches, a particularly proud thunderbird. So much so I'm surprised the pair could do magic with each other given their individual pride," he gave a light laugh at that, finding humor in his joke, "his was pliable, a wand built for power and transfiguration."

A short break occurred, and Harry was about to interject to ask for more. That was until the man cut him off, "Or maybe you will be like your mother 10 ¼ inch Willow, swishy, with the core of a Swedish Short-snout that was no doubt as temperamental as she was, but was excellent at charms." The man was rambling, but Harry held firm to every word, memorizing it, swimming in it. This was his parents, proud and hot-tempered for his dad and mum respectfully. The man then moved in to Harry's view.

He was a short man and horribly thin. Harry imagined his appearance is what was in his future. His eyes though, much like Harry carried more than his body did. His were a sparkling blue that radiated curiosity as if he was on an endless search for a question he did not know. His head was overlaid with tight wrinkles and framed with a silver mop of hair. If someone were to tell Harry that the oldest man in the world was standing in front of him, right now, Harry would believe it in a heartbeat. The dinosaur of a man moved behind the counter with surprising speed and nimbly hopped over it grasping at a stick of wood and holding it out in offering for Harry. "Give it a wave."

Harry did. Then he did it again, then again, and again. Each and every time the result was the same, each and every time ending in failure. He gained no connection on any attempt and every wand refused to do anything for the young wizard. Harry grew more and more desperate with every wand, his terror that he was not a wizard growing every time, not noticing the smile on the wandmakers face growing with each attempt.

Finally, after at least one hundred attempts, Harry gripped at a wand and it was different. It was much like his other special items, attaching to him, telling him that it was his. It was smooth on his fingers, sending a comforting feeling up his arm to the center of his being. It was a cool feeling, pulling him down, anchoring him to earth. This object was as much his friend as his cards. His partner gave him a promise to be with him always, to be the team that would do great things. This wand made him feel like standing up and proclaiming, 'I am Harry Potter, and I am destined for greatness.' As the power in the room slowly turned around the boy the smile was gone from the wandmaker's face. A more stoic stance was taken instead. Harry looked at the wand in his hand and saw a bright wood, white, with light brown shoots on it, it had a distinct handle, which turned at a sharp angle to the shaft. Waving it in front of him directing the magic around him sending the chilling toll of a bell throughout the shop, yet despite the eeriness of the sound, it brought comfort to the young wizard, for the toll sounded was not his own.

The same could not be said for the master wand crafter, the combination of wand and its declarative magic, reminding him of another who had stood in this shop. Another young boy, alone and ragged. He looked into the boy's eyes and found himself looking into his own. The master crafter broke eye contact and began to tell a story, "Yew, 13 inches, with the optic nerve of a dying reclusive demiguise, ridged. Especially adept at illusions." He paused and looked back at the boy with a seriousness that was new and unfamiliar upon his face. "I remember every wand I have crafted, for decades upon decades I have done my craft and remember every face for every wand, the yew tree which gave its wood for yours I visited three times." He paused and collected himself, taking a deep breath, recounting the story as if the fall of a loved one occurred, "The first two I gathered samples from the proud old tree, the last I watched its final embers go out. One Tom Riddle has its one and only brother, and he did terrible things, not limited to your scar." He reached across the counter and touched the covered spot on his head, shocking Harry at the accuracy of his facial disfigurement. His touch was as cold as death itself and brought with it the realization that the scar once attributed to a car accident was more.

Suddenly, as if a switch had flipped, the serious man was gone, as quickly as he came, and the jovial shop owner was back, "If I throw in a dragonhide holster we can call it an even two, what do you say, short-snout in honor of your mother." Despite the situation that had occurred Harry couldn't help but to smile and accept the offer. He watched the old man move to the back of his selection coming back with a multi strapped armband which looked like liquid sapphire had been poured on it, despite its malleable nature. Harry quickly took it cradling the holster to his chest in an attempt to hug his mother.

The old man proceeded to show him how to set it up, how to slide his wand in and out, and generally told him how to best take care of his expensive purchase. After a few more minutes, almost making Harry forget the serious demeanor the man had previously, Harry was outside the shop. Sadly, it was only almost.

* * *

The Sun.

The streets population had been culled in the hour he was away from it. A few stragglers moved from shop to shop, groups of teens gossiping about this and that, pointing at various new items in the windows. Harry did not know what he should be doing, as Professor Sprout was not in his vision. Taking his alone time, Harry sat on the ground, summoning his wand from its holster on his wand. He began to twirl it, stopping to grip it, trying to find a position comfortable for his hand to sit on. Eventually, he decided on a grip. Not a few minutes later, still twirling his wand, gaining his grip, Professor Sprout came up to him, wheeling his trunk and holding a cage with a blanket over it. Slipping his wand away he moved up to meet her halfway.

"Did you get one?" She asked.

"Yep" Slipping it out he showed her his new companion.

She was obviously impressed with the beautiful wood examining it, noting the odd bend, displaying a large smile throughout. "And a wand holster I see." Her tone letting him know that it was the correct choice to get one.

"Swedish Short-Snout for mum." He declared, proud of the first thing he had connecting him to either parent. The professor beamed at his show of loyalty, tearing up slightly at the idea of this poor boy growing up without his mother.

"I did promise you food, how about we go back to the Leakey before I have to bring you home?"

"Ya." He answered, meekly at the reminder that this would end shortly, his short adventure into this new world would be ending for a month hiatus.

The two walked, Harry more openly asking questions about the world he entered, the professor answering everything in kind. Harry was truly happy, as this was the closest he had ever been to having a friend. Arriving at the brick wall that started this adventure he asked a new question. "Can I open the wall, please?" To which the professor merely laughed at his eagerness, gesturing him to begin. Tapping the marked bricks caused the wall to move out, opening the dark pub again. The pair took a seat, as a woman who introduced herself as Diane, and ordered, both deciding on burgers. As she left the professor spoke up again.

"I actually got you something as a birthday gift." She gave a light blush. Harry eyed her confused as she picked up the cage, taking off the cloth covering to reveal a toad. It was a dark brown, nearly black, instead of having warts on its neck it had small protrusions and a large single horn from its nose. "Most people do not like toads, so I was going to get you an owl, but well, I saw this horned one and thought of you." she rambled out. Harry just looked at her wide-eyed and shocked. He was surprised at her generosity. Added to that, this was a gift that she spent a lot of time on, given the conflict within her story.

"Thank you," He said with an ear-splitting grin, "this is the first present I have ever had; does it have a name."

She looked at him, in confusion about the gift part of the sentence, but answered the same, "No, you can name him." At that Harry fished out his History of Magic text opening it to the middle and leafing through the pages settling on the story of a warlock fighting against a race of creatures called Dementors, sealing them away. "He will be Alastair." Harry declared. A soft form of magic connected the two as he took ownership of the toad. Looking into its brown eyes was intelligence and some manner of pride. The familiar and its human continued their staring contest until the food arrived, which Harry devoured as fast as he could, the succulent food tasting better than anything he had ever had. The juices exploded all over his mouth. When he finished his stomach hurt, and he didn't even care.

Being done before his future teacher he waited patiently for her to finish. Until something caught her eye. "Quirinus." She waved at someone behind Harry. Harry heard the thudding of steps behind him.

"Pomona," He greeted back as excited as she was. "It's so nice to see you after a whole year."

"Yes, and how was your sabbatical?"

"Splendid, I was in Turkey, then to Greece, and finally Albania." He said the last name with a bit of fear.

"Oh my, why so much travel?"

"Well, in prep for this year's classes, I thought I'd try my hand at vampires. Now let me tell you they live up to the stories." He paused for what Harry concluded could only assume was to have a dramatic effect. "I rooted out a clan in Turkey you see, various uses of Trabem Solis saw me through. That is where I got this." The man was now in Harry's peripheral, swinging a chair around sitting in it with his front on its back, using the rest as his head prop. Pointing to his head saw a purple turban atop his young average face. His hazel eyes sitting atop his sunned skin. "Sadly, the leader ran to the west, so I, of course, followed, after grabbing my reward of course. Sadly, that stop put me off his trail." He again stopped, loving the look of anticipation upon the professor's face. "That was until I heard mention of a diviner in Greece." Harry perked up at that, hearing about his pastime, finding it had relevance in this world.

"Quin, you know we don't exactly hold stock of that here." As his professor admonished the man Harry's hope left. What he enjoyed was not accepted?

"Pomona, we do teach divination," he reminded her using the same tone against her, "and the field is well developed in Greece, in fact, I would say it has the best teachers in the world," Harry noted that Greece was his first international destination. "Well, that is when I met old Cyrus, who told me that 'my trip would bring me to the unexplored land to the north' which I took to be the virgin beech forest. There, after parlaying with the local centaur population, I found him, with more monsters. That is when I used a spell I had found in Greece at the request of the old man. I krísi tou íliou" He spoke with a flourish.

Without allowing him to continue Harry cut him off "The judgment of the Sun." He exclaimed confidently, sounding just how he had pictured it over the years. Wonder in his eyes over the application. Wonder at the man for the amazing sounding feat over a single summer.

Then the stranger turned to Harry, noticing him for the first time. "That is correct young man," He narrowed his eyes at the boy, "now who might you be?" The accusation of how he knew was not vocalized. Harry looked into his eyes and received nothing in return other than a deeper, more focused look. "You see, this turban has been charmed to increase resistance to mind effects, it works really good on vampires, and Legilimens." He added hotly to the end, his tone holding with it an accusation.

Harry looked at him confused about why he got nothing, and of what he was being accused of, "Well, I have been studying Greek, and I am Harry, Harry Potter." He bowed his head.

"The Harry Potter?" He turned to Sprout who nodded in the affirmative, looking shaken.

"Harry, maybe it is best we go now, yes?" Harry looked back at her nodding. Noticing the room begin to start murmuring at his declaration, not noticing how Quirinus's story had more then the tables' occupants enthralled.

Turning to Quirinus and standing he muttered: "Nice to meet you, sir."

The young man responded, "It will be Professor to you Potter, Professor Quirrell. I will be seeing you, as well as you Pomona." With that, he left.

After Professor Sprout grabbed the tab the pair left and reentered the Knights Bus. The pair sat in silence, Harry from exhaustion, the professor from thought. Eventually, after the uneventful trip, the pair was at Privet Drive. Thanking her for her help, her present, and her company he hopped off the bus to the sound of her thanking him in return. Harry's feet slowly brought him to the house. Oddly, despite it being before nine o'clock, the house was dark. Walking around the perimeter of the house to the always unlocked back door Harry let himself in, never seeing the cricket bat which struck his face.

The Sun.

* * *

**Edited 3/21/2020**


	5. Chapter 4: The Wheel of Fortune I

**Chapter Four: The Wheel of Fortune I**

**AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. If anyone likes this maybe, we will get past chapter 5. WARNING: This chapter I introduce low-level horror elements, as you can see I do not have this story tagged as horror. I find when used sparingly it can make for a great addition to any story. No this will not be a straight-up horror read, but occasionally a chapter or two will have elements of it. Namely, as some people could probably tell, I will use elements of cosmic horror. I need a beta, so if anyone finds this story interesting please contact me and we can see if we can work together to make something good.**

* * *

The Wheel of Fortune.

The future is unknown. This is an inevitability of the universe. A counter to this is 'The Laws of Cause and Effect and Probability' which can make educated guesses over that future. Some of these futures are clearer to foretell than others, letting go of a held object will prompt it to fall to earth is one example of this. One practice of divination is working magic to draw out the cause of the world and predict the most probable fate. Thus, the nemesis of divining the future with tarot is established, The Wheel of Fortune.

To a diviner, much like Harry thought himself, it was a card that spat in his face. It often seemed the true antithesis to the art. He also never predicted that his future existed so close to his present, that the future the card spoke of existed two days away. Harry assumed that he had entered the domain of The Wheel of Fortune given how his head spun. The dark of the room bright with lights conjured up by Harry's eyes, though they did not help him see, only visual representations of the force behind the blow. Looking around the kitchen he was so familiar with Harry located his assailant. Vernon was standing beside the door bat in hand, Harry's eyes caught the burning fury and surprise of Vernon's staring back. His uncle had never played the sport before, not beyond pickup games in high school, but the man oft spoke that there were many uses for the bat. It surprised both him and Harry as the contact of the visions swing was not enough to send Harry to bed, unconsciousness eluded. Within the fury was another emotion, fear. Fear of Harry's potential, and what he could do to his loved ones.

The burning desire to harm his ward, to protect that was important, overtook him again and approached Harry with the bat, eager for a second swing. From inside the man's mind, he saw instances of a warning letter, horror stories of Petunia's parents' demise and the leech in the cupboard were all the things going through the gigantic man's mind. Harry felt this and knew what to do, a way to prevent the pain, doing the practiced motion of only hours ago he sent his yew wand into his hand. Harry had no clue how to use a wand, but that didn't matter, the object alone should be enough for Vernon. Then, a strange occurrence happened, despite not knowing any spells, the focus generated a swirl of magic around Harry, to help its new master, the act fueled by the child's fear. His guardian took a step back, in horror, from the weapon in the hand of his ward. The house quaked beneath his retreat, the familiar sound of stairs taken faster then he had ever heard.  
Harry realized that he must flee, he doubted that this would be the last incident between the pair, the next would probably be fatal. Turning to run out the door he didn't make it far until he remembered his cards and his tome. Dragging his new chest with him he stumbled to his cupboard struggling to move, his mind still reeling, spots still decorating his vision. Almost pulling the door off its handles he combed through it, grabbing his treasures. His book, the cards, his stone collection, they all hadn't moved. He loaded the items into his chest, gingerly, vigilant to not damage them, they were his companions, his friends, Harry could never forgive himself if harm befell them. This had taken to much time. Overhead the sound of footsteps moving down the hall to the stairs provided a reminder he needed to hurry, the shower of dust above informed him he failed. Latching the chest he proceeded to the exit door again but was met in the hallway.

"Boy, stop right there," Vernon said in an aethereal serene tone, unsuited for his current state which should match that of a berserker. "Turn around," Years of conditioning triggered, and he listened, slowly turning to face the man who raised him, wand still in hand. Harry did and wished he hadn't, Vernon was standing at the bottom of the stairs holding a two-handed gun, a rifle which Harry did not realize existed before this occasion, Vernon's eyes no longer containing the rage and fear. Only retribution. The icy stare caused Harry to shiver, and for the first moment since beginning to live on Privet Drive, Harry had fear for his survival. The barrel of the weapon pointed straight at the child. Despite his slight proportion, there was no hope that the bullet would miss at this range, it wouldn't matter how quick he was, he would die. Before they had always taken comfort away from him, giving him enough to live, but his uncle or aunt would take it all away. Now they were taking more, taking his very self away.

Act or die. His instincts flooded him, and Harry yanked and pulled on his magic, allowing the foreign power to fill his whole being, saturating himself in the energy. He called out to it and asked for help, the flow coursing through him was his response. He asked his new partner, his 13 inches of yew, to help, pleading with it. The gun sounded and a crack followed. Blood hit the wall behind him, but Harry was gone.

* * *

The Wheel of Fortune.

White, everything was white. The ceiling, the walls, his clothes, the bedding, even the drink on his nightstand, all white. Even worse from the color was the fact that he recognized nothing. There existed no clock in the room, nor a calendar. The only thing that let him experience time was the sun's movement outside of his window. Maybe he was dead and waiting for his judgment, "the death card would have been better." He cursed his deck for not giving him an ample warning. Harry knew however that he was not dead, for the deceased probably had more enjoyable things to do than rest in a vacant room watching over an active street below. He felt over his shoulder, touching only a slight swell in the skin. Rolling it, there was no resistance nor loss in movement. A remarkable situation for having been shot. Inside his gown he rubbed his fresh scar, a slight thing despite the heinous nature of its origin.

A bare touch caused him to recall the burn. The agonizing sense of the hot bullet passing through his body, the agony of his retreat. Even worse from the pain of the bullet was the burning sensation all over his body inside and out. The sense of being compressed, as if his cupboard had collapsed on him, the pain of being ripped apart and assembled anew. A sudden impact of landing hard on the street, looking at his own leg, bleeding in front of his eyes, no longer on him. The rush of people approaching him, shouting, questioning. Nothing followed all this. After endless nothing, white. As the sudden urge to use the restroom hit, he sat, head spinning, the headache he didn't notice he had revealed itself. With his gown riding up from the activity he saw an ugly gash around his bad leg, the same limb he had lost a staring contest with. Eventually making his way to his feet he smiled a bright smile that the leg still worked, though walking to the bathroom showed his limp had magnified.

After relieving himself he walked into the room again. This time he was not alone. A single unique feature was present, the absence of glasses showing only a blur. It sat next to his bed, on a chair new to the room, for it gleamed brown, not white. The blur shot up and made its way to Harry, clutching him and struggling to help him back into bed. Harry flinched from the contact but allowed the man to guide him, the blur apologizing for not being in earlier. The sound was male. Once the man had made certain the young wizard sat snugly in bed they talked. The discussion that followed Harry would never forget.

"So, Mister Potter, My name is Harry Thompson, but you can call me Doctor Thompson. I have been in charge of your care since arrival at Albertsons Medical." The man said in a gentle voice as if wishing to not upset him. He had a pleasant tone. Harry wanted to glimpse into the man's eyes. "I am glad to inform you that you have made a complete physical recovery, that being a reattachment of your leg, and a complete overhaul of your shoulder." After letting Harry digest that report he continued, "This has taken the better part of a week to carry out, but you are physically healthy."

Harry interrupted him, in confusion at being asleep for over one day, not recalling an occasion where he slept over seven hours. "Doctor Thompson, you keep saying I am physically healthy, or physically fine, why do you specify that? Is something wrong with my mind, is something wrong with my magic?" Harry clasped his wet palms and shook, despite only being introduced to it yesterday he was possessive over his magic. Despite only being introduced to magic yesterday he realized it had been with him much longer. Magic surrounded him in Ollivander's shop when he joined with his wand, but also with his book, or his cards. He had known the delicate caress of magic with every divination attempt, losing it would be as if he had lost himself.

The room was quiet. "Apparition is a hard feat of magic, a large number of adults can never achieve it, given the amount of magic that needs to be channeled to succeed." He let that description resonate, his voice had a somber undertone he was struggling to suppress. "The fact you could do it is honestly perplexing, but it was not without consequence." The declaration remained in the air.

"To explain what happened to you I will have to first explain some things you would learn at your magic school a few years down the road. We wizards pull magic from the world to fuel spells, we then push it through our bodies to give it direction, and then through a concentrated point, that point being of our wand, which allows the magic to occur. Do you understand?" Harry nodded, it seemed like mumbo jumbo but Harry was racing to his answer, did he still have his magic, or was he alone. "One must practice magic to be able to push more of it through, much like a muscle, but if they push more then they can handle they hurt the body." He let Harry think upon his words. "As I have said, Apparition is difficult, but it is difficult for multiple reasons. The first is the concentration required, the second is the magic required. To be honest, your body couldn't handle the magical stress you had forced it into."

Harry nearly cried out. Would he never be able to use magic again? His breathing took off, his heart raced. "Sir, can I no longer use magic?" He questioned out loud, desperate to know.

The doctor's reply came slow, "You can, you have just damaged your magic pathways, making it more difficult for yourself. I am sorry." He answered in the same tone as his apology, mournful, all Harry wanted to do was cry. "Now Mr. Potter, the Aurors will come and ask you some questions about your situation, can I get you anything before that?"

"Yes please, I, well, I can't see. Could I get my glasses?"

"Of course, yours were broken, but I will send for a crafter, they will be up shortly." With that Dr. Thompson left the room. The dam that Harry had constructed broke, he cried. He knew of magics existence for less then a day already he had damaged the thing he found as the most precious. Vernon had sought to kill him. He thought about that, the man who raised him had tried to kill him. Harry assumed hatred from them, considered nonhuman in the eyes of his blood relatives, but to try and kill him like a rat, that was too much. What had he done, why did they despise him, what did he do. Was he evil for the sake, was his presence alone all that was required for hate to fester. The tears continued to fall, pooling below him.

From the foot of his bed, a small brown shape lunged at him, as Alastair made his residence known to the young wizard. Harry smiled down at the new pet whom he shared a special connection with, Alastair looked back. The pair sat in shared silence, both deep in sorrow. As the minutes rolled by a knock sounded. Wiping his face he told the knocker to enter with a wavering voice. It was another man, this one introduced himself Samual Harris, a master crafter of enchanted items, with a heavy lean on glasses, despite not wearing them himself. After various spells, he gave Harry a pair of glasses, pulled from a case that entered the room with the man. He promised he would return with the final product, but these filler glasses would have to work. Harry stayed in awe, never seeing so clear, the blurriness he thought natural, gone.

* * *

The Wheel of Fortune.

As Master Harris left, a pair of individuals approached, joining the white room. The woman appeared regal looking, her posture as straight as her greying auburn hair. Her eyes seemed hard as ice, and blue to match. Her compatriot was a firm man, younger than his co-worker, his head reflecting the lights of the room.

The woman took point, "Hello Mister Potter, my name is Amelia Bones, and this is my partner John Williamson, we have some questions for you." Her voice emanated authority, and despite being held back it rumbled with authority. The initial inquiries seemed routine, his name, age, birthday, address. Then she asked him if he remembered how he ended up where he was. He told her the tale, of the letter, of Professor Sprout, of reaching home, and of running away.

"Your uncle is currently in custody for attempted murder, and after finding traces in the home of child abuse your aunt was deemed unfit to continue to watch over children, meaning your cousin will be with your Aunt Marge now. You need not testify." She continued to explain what would happen to his former guardians, how the muggles would see they would never harm Harry again. The boy could only nod at the stream of horrible events that had happened to the Dursleys, feeling nothing but pity for them, why was it their fault they had to host him. They deserved it, they needed to suffer. That Dudley got off scot-free was bad enough. Harry didn't hate Dudley though, he was a respectful boy, he didn't despise the Dursleys at all, they were not evil. He breathed, closing his eyes he steadied himself, forcing the voice down again.

"Now is the question of your living condition next year. Luckily you are going to Hogwarts, but after that, we will need to locate you some new guardians, proper ones this time." She looked down on him with sympathy. "Don't worry about it. We can start on some paperwork later, but throughout the year we will have meetings in Hogsmeade, to find you a home, a family." After a few more moments of silence, she spoke again, realizing the boy wouldn't speak. "Until the year starts you will live here, on ministry funds, of course. You will have a curfew of seven o'clock in the evening and will answer to your physician as if he were your guardian. That is all, have a pleasant day." With that the duo left, leaving Harry again alone. Harry wondered if Mister Williamson couldn't speak.  
The hours milled away with Harry reading some basics from his textbooks, though none of them described what the doctor had said about magic and how it functioned. The books only spoke about feeling and willpower, using messy looking equations with variables that had no numerical value. How does one measure concentration? They listed things they called magic spells which looked to be pseudo-Latin phrases with literal and nonliteral translations to the effect they caused. Just as Harry began to drift off, another knock sounded on the door interrupted him, entering was the man who had given him his new glasses, Samual Harris. Harry gave the man a lookover, he deserved as much for letting Harry see.

Samual Harris was an odd fellow. He stood towering and heavy, not to Vernon extent, but tall and bulky all the same. He looked to be around Vernon's age. Despite that, he possessed a soft smile that was absent from his erstwhile guardian and a gleam that manifested in his eyes when he watched Harry seemed just as alien. He held a narrow package, bound in maroon and gold paper. "I got this for you, as a thank you and late birthday present, I have some enchanting to do on it, meaning I will do it by August 27th, but I wanted to make sure you liked them." He was nervous, Harry wondered what caused people to act a fool around him. A gorgeous pair of spectacles with rounded corners and sizeable frames came from the package. A brilliant silver color decorated the frames, not unlike the metal that was used in Gringotts.

"I can't accept this sir, they look far too expensive." The elder leaned forward, grasping Harry's hands in his looking deep into his eyes.

"This is a thank you, my boy, for everything." Harry witnessed the moniker again, 'the-boy-who-lived' but this time held something new, something that Master Harris feared. It was a demon of death, Voldemort. Harry initiated the break this time, glancing down at Alastair. The brown horned toad looked back. Seeing that the boy was probably tired Samual Harris reminded Harry to swing by Luxurious Lenses, his store, on the 27th.

Harry overtook by exhaustion allowed sleep to overtake him, dreaming of snakes chasing devils, later of the wonders of magic. He dreamt of his wheel of fortune until he tumbled from the heaven depicted in the card until, after an eternity, landing on a heap of balls, staring forward to a gate which stood great and noble. The area around him completely dark, vastly different from the blue atmosphere he previously left, yet despite no light source Harry could see. Below him had strange orbs, a weird green mass of spheres all around him, where the balls did not exist was void. Harry focused ahead and started striding towards the gate, desperately needing the knowledge hidden behind it, slipping over the irregular ground he dragged himself forward, to the truth that lay beyond. Harry could hear voices behind him, strange cries in a nameless tongue telling him to turn back, pleading with him to not continue down this madness. The voices would have had a better chance of persuading a mountain to move, the pleads falling upon deft ears, for curiosity had won. The doorway, shining ahead as a beacon, appeared familiar. His feet squished through the bulbs of green below him, moving closer to the gate. The journey was long until he made it close enough to make out the gate in significant detail.

It was enormous, wrapped in the same bulbs that made existence in the void. Taller than any building that Harry had ever seen. Expertly drawn in the center of the door was his tome's sigil. Harry took solace in it, a reminder of the wonderful things he had. That was until the sigil opened exposing a single eye, it's color indescribable. The eye peered into his heart, learning all he was and would be. The eye knew all, it looked into Harry's soul, his hairs stood on end.  
Trying to run found him glued, whether by dread or the terrain was anyone's guess. The eye continued to stair, judging and weighing the boy, again the ground below him swallowed his very being as he fell, a sound swam around him in a language incomprehensible to him, a maddening noise. As he fell and fell and fell the voice gained more and more volume. The fall lasted an eternity until at the end of time Harry understood, his destiny was the gate, for the gate would be his victory. He awoke, covered in sweat, throat raw, to Alastair's tongue in his ear thankful to no longer be trapped within his nightmare.  
The Wheel of Fortune.

The sun rose and set. This process repeated and repeated. Harry had already read all his new books, the book on Magic Theory twice, and already reeled in boredom. The confines of his white room being tighter around him than his cupboard. It wasn't until Doctor Thompson asked him confused why he hadn't left yet that Harry learned that all he needed to do to leave his solitary was to ask. He adventured alone on his trips after the first day and roamed the various alleys in the magical world. Today his conquest was Knockturn.

Knockturn Alley oddly saw less traffic than the other Alleyways. The street seemed to be enveloped in a constant dimness, even with the sun burning above, the road had many shadows. Compared to Diagon Alley the buildings stood reasonable, though gothic in appearance. The shops appeared as elusive as the street itself, many not bearing any information about what existed within, no windows, not even names. Hidden in the shadows he watched several people move through different doors, the sole evidence of a shop was bags full of purchases.

His people watching turned out to not benefit him as a strange humanoid walked the road. It was a cloaked figure with skin that looked almost green. It looked feminine with an enormous nose. The thing looked at him and went a large grin, revealing pointed teeth within her horrible mouth. She strode towards him, like a predator upon a wounded prey. Harry fled hearing the demonic humanoid behind him which gave off a chilling laugh, running Harry wandered into a small shop called The Starry Prophesier. Entering the room, and closing the door hard Harry took cover behind one curtain in the room.

The moments passed and his pursuer never entered. Harry breathed, his lungs burning from the lack of air. He surveyed the room and found it small, like his cupboard. He moved apart a set of shades revealing another room this one dark with a faint perfume permeating in the room. The room was devoid of humans.

As Harry entered the curtains behind him fell forming a soft wall behind him, the room only holds within it a table with a clear ball upon it. The ball was smaller than a football and appeared forged of glass. I pulled at Harry giving the desire to look, to see. He remembered his dream, of the gate of knowledge, it looking back upon him judging him, this ball was similar, oh so similar. It sat there, gleaming in the faint candlelight which barely illuminated it, calling out for him. Harry couldn't resist.  
Sitting at the table he gazed into the ball, a disjointing sense overtook him as his consciousness slipped into the serine state of shuffling tarot cards. Harry gazed into the ball and to his horror, the ball stared back. He was again in front of the gate as its eyes opened, it gave Harry a stream of knowledge, rummaging in his head, the sensation was the same as when he looked in people's eyes. Amongst the myriad of information images projected of a store and ancient runes. He gripped it hoping to gain more insight, moving in to look closer. His fear not being enough to pull him away from the future pulling him in. He was met with more flashes, a castle, a lake, loneliness, hope, a monster, a mirror, the flashes continued, growing too fast to recognize. Pain filled him and overexerted his brain, the images kept flashing and flashing, never stopping, the ball that kept his gaze not willing to let the flow stop until one final image held his full view, his card, XIII, death.

A force pulled him out, not on his own will. His mind felt as a scrambled egg ran over by a car, a woman who appeared like his precious pursuer had joined him in the room. She was short and hunched, warted with a large nose, her eyes brown as the earth and pointed and looked at him with great curiosity, but looking at her dead-on was strange, even in the low light she seemed to shimmer like aluminum foil-covered skin. She differed slightly from the one before, but she still terrified Harry. He tried to speak, but his throat dry and raw from screaming.

"Shh boy, It is all right, what did you see?" Her voice was odd to him, sounding her consonants harder than he was used to. She attempted to calm him by rubbing his back, Harry couldn't fault her for not knowing that the contact would only drive him closer to panic. Her appearance, his experience with Vernon and the adrenaline flowing through him set him off. Her hands were soft, in opposition to her gangly looking hand. He shot towards the wall, crashing away from her grip, using it as an ally backing him so that his only opponent would be on his front. He tried to breathe to calm himself 'She saw you, she knows you, eliminate her.' The voice was back pleading with him, he sprung out his wand, pointing it at the witch, 'Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra' flashes to the dream, the light, the loss. He knew those words, he recognized them well, he lived them most nights and now he knew what they did.  
The woman in front of him did not deserve to die though, she had not done him wrong. She was not the same beast as before, she had saved him. His non-wand arm jetted down to his pocket, clutching the cards he packed today, brushing his hand on the smooth container, focusing, pushing away the anger and hate. An unfamiliar person appeared where the nasty one had been before, gone was the warty woman replaced with a considerable beauty. Her hair beneath her cloak hood was a platinum blonde and her eyes were a shimmery blue, like the arctic beach crashing on the glacial shores. Harry pushed away his wand back to its holster, offering his hands up in surrender, getting mighty embarrassed for acting such a fool. The woman gazed at him, tears brimming within her crystal eyes, understanding the burden Harry was under. He rose and dusted off his robe, something he had purchased the past day so he would not be touring around in school attire, gathering his thoughts. He offered the woman a polite bow and offered his apologies. The edge of suspicion never escaping him.

"It's quite alright young man, why do you not do me a favor and sit down." She took a seat on one side of the table, and Harry sat across from her, daring to glance at the ball again despite his previous experience. Instead of the gazing ball a unique blanket lay, sealing the seeing stone from the world. The pair remained in silence, the tapping of his legs rhythmically tapping echoing. The woman watched his every move. "I am Madam Völva." Her voice sounded different to him, her accent was not English. She remained waited for his response in no external hurry.

"Harry." He responded with a quiet voice.

"What did you see Harry?" Her voice laden with concern, as if she recognized what it was like to have one's whole life play out. How could she though? How could he do anything again?

"All of it, through and through, all the way till the finish." He fished his deck out, cutting twice and drawing the card regarding it with apathy as the skeletal knight watched him over a field of bodies. Harry looked deep into her eyes, tears welling within both pairs.

She understood, they had taught her the subject, she learned how to quit seeking. When to stop looking, "You poor boy, no one should have to read their own death, you poor boy, do you know how or why?"

He stared at her in indifference, death was his end, and it appeared in the close future. "No, just soon, but be that tomorrow or ten years does it matter?" The tears disappeared, for they stood no purpose.

She merely looked at him with pity, she had been trained to stop gazing, the main problem of the crystal balls was the draw, the pull of knowledge, of going too far. He had no way of knowing, of counteracting the tug, but she thought him a genuine prodigy at the subject, as it took many years of practice to get graphic enough reading to cause his reaction. He looked away not wishing to know more, that is what got him into his current situation, he needed to learn to stop gazing. "Always remember the Wheel of Fortune young man."

That rattled him to his core, he remembered the flash, the card of ambiguity, of uncertainty. "What?" He stammered out. His head shooting an accusatory stair at her. Could she be someone who was writing his fate, how had she known his card, his future?

"The Wheel of Fortune, how the future is not set, death now does not mean that it is absolute then. The ambiguity of the future, how cause and effect can fall to randomness"

He beamed at her, was this a part of his fate, was his deck reminding him how no matter what, the future is a product of the present and can change. Had his prediction from days ago been so that at this juncture he would not suffer himself in fear and apathy? He held the death card, caressing it before placing it back within his collection, resealing his cards. They rested warm within his grip, reassuring they would always be with him. They would guide him on the correct path. The tears fell again, emotion overtaking him. Harry felt that he lived on the bar of a balance with constantly adjusting contents, teetering back and forth between madness and sadness, with few moments of peace.

"Thank you, Madam, really." He said, choking on the words, clearing his throat he spoke again, "Would you mind if I asked you a question?" She leaned back in her chair waving him to do as he wished. "Where could I find some books on ancient ruins?" He remembered back to his original vision of the day before it became too much for his mind to handle he had seen the words ancient ruins in his vision.

She looked at him with curiosity, "You look a little young to be a third year, though it would explain the divination training, yet not why you ignored all of the rules involved." She scolded him, her face losing some of its pitty and instead, turning to disappointment. "Why would you need other books? Is your schoolbook not good enough?"

"Well, I have this book, and, well, I can't read it, it's not in English. While gazing I visited a bookstore. It stood without a name and held within ancient ruins, so I thought maybe..." He trailed off not knowing what to say. Upset at himself for rambling.

"Four doors down on this side, opposite Horizont. That is where you are looking." she paused, "I wish you well young man, be careful with divination, it is fickle and uncaring. It is also the most dangerous subject that I know, you would do well to remember that," she peered at him with solemn eyes "but remember divination is not always what it seems." Her eyes soft again with the realization he was not a student. With that lesson she turned and strolled through the curtains opposite him, leaving Harry alone again. He shoved the thoughts of Death and isolation aside, instead, for the first time, being thankful for drawing his future card.

The Wheel of Fortune.


	6. Chapter 5: The Wheel of Fortune II

**Chapter Five: The Wheel of Fortune II**

**AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. We have arrived at chapter 5. There are no Horror elements in this chapter, yay. I still require a beta. As for reviews I don't care if they are saying that my work is bad, just please give me feedback. People are reading and staying around, but I don't know why.**

* * *

The Wheel of Fortune.

In a stupor Harry stumbled out of the smoky room, spilling back into the shadowy streets of Knockturn Alley, for the first time fearing what he had with divination. He forced that thought aside he froze. Before he was chased to this store by a monstrous humanoid, a warted beast. Giving the street a vigilant search, he spotted no signs of the strange being, but there was an increase in foot traffic now, a modest crowd beginning to move through the thin road. Harry endeavored to merge with the masses and follow Madam Völva's instructions, finding himself before a simple unmarked brown door indistinguishable from the doors bookending it. As he detached from the current, he strode up to it hoping to find a hint of the contents, opening it, careful to not create a sound, he slipped into the unknown place of business.

It was odd entering the room as it brought into a world reminiscent of that shop so long ago. The store stood inviting with a tangible characteristic of power coursing through it, a subtle tactility, the air in the room stopping a shiver he didn't realize he had. The only noteworthy differences between this property and the one of his youth were the assortment of goods and the absence of tables. Alternatively, to stands with samples of products, this place instead housed row after row of tomes of various sizes. Harry wandered the vast collection. He ran his slender fingers across the bindings, meeting the varied sizes of the books, spanning from smaller than his finger to thicker than his hand sideways. The titles appeared individualized, Harry found no duplicates, the writings seemed too specialized for a typewriter to produce, at least the inspected scripts which gave responses to touch, every once in a while he would contact a book which held no energy, inside he would discover the traditional font of an average text, not unlike a novel from the library. Above each portion of the shelves was signing to help visitors locate the works they desired, with different genres befitting sections, with a further division by age. They posted no prices. As he scanned the numerous shelves he sought for the section on ruins, but all he found was Charms or Battle Magics or Transfiguration or Dark Arts. It wasn't until he made his way to a cramped alcove with a sun-window, which failed to light the area as it gazed upon the shady alley beyond, that he discovered a shelf with Ancient Ruins. This section was two lengths long and thus only had a single date listed, 1475.

Scanning through the books, passing his hand along as he saw many publications with Elder Futhark or Futhark in the title, which after a brief investigation was not his prized third language. He started at the oldest section and felt no call and saw no sign that the collection before him would yield a translation. That was until he found a thick book in the newer selection, despite its relatively young age it was extremely worn with a faded leather spine. It gave him a slight push when he passed it, nothing severe, but noticeable all the same. Slowly pulling the manuscript from its housing he groped the front cover, a ruff piece of raised scribbles underneath. He turned over to the cover and noted that it depicted four languages. And mottling of dark brown splashed on the face of this tome, which suggested similar stains within his cupboard. The English name read _A Translation Guide to Reading Like the Rosetta Stone_, which also read in two Egyptian scripts and Greek, a match for his writing minus the language which he had seen no sign of. As Harry flipped into its contents and browsed the sections an amazing experience presented itself, the book, while he read, spoke to him, mind to mind, showing him how to speak, teaching him how the voice flowed forth and sounded. Only five minutes with this work gained more than enough knowledge to overtake the Egyptian he knew. In the margin, from a previous owner, scribbles and small notes of "The combination is fish, snake, tree," or "The gas overtook the room and we retreated," resided. A journal of sorts was scratched near the back of the text, containing more writings different from those of the title proper. What person would write in a book like a journal? Harry mused. A dead one he replied to himself, found upon closing the work and again seeing the stains on the cover, without doubt, blood splatter.

He walked to the counter centered in the building where an old man was sitting. He wore a top hat and flowing red robes. In his mouth was a pipe he was smoking, held within a forest of his bushy white beard. He rested on two legs with a book in hand and shoes on the counter, his boots were made from some a reptilian animal given its large scales. Harry gently placed the tome down on the table in front of him, title up, "How much for this?"

The man perched forward grabbing the book, eyeing the name with his spectacled eyes, turning the text over in his hands giving the contents a small inspection. "Four Galleons."

Four Galleons was a lot of money, enough to cause Harry to scoff at the number, 4,000 pounds was too much for a single work. Harry would never be capable of calling the man out, for once he wished Vernon was present. He was strong and stingy with cash; he would be qualified to talk the clerk to a reasonable amount. Then why don't you just be Vernon, it wouldn't be hard. "I think not, no one shops here," He gestured to the empty room behind him, "What kind of return customer would I be if I had to give up four Galleons for such an insignificant book." Harry bluffed, pulling forth his best Vernon impression, finding it easy to say the words in a harsh and commanding way.

"This here is an enchanted book, as I am sure you know, and being a handwritten translation piece, selling this for less than 3.2 would be highway robbery against me. And apparently, boy, it isn't insignificant to you if you wish to buy it."

You could just kill him, take the tome, and leave. No one would find out, well minus the wench, but we could take care of her as easily as him. The voice propagated again, causing Harry to experience fear again. Was it the harsh action that brought it out? The voice had been under control, stopped, and now, being with magic caused its return. The pull was powerful, but his will was stronger. Pushing the hostile voice down, he looked the owner in the eyes, despite Harry's recent experience he demanded to know, so he allowed the connection to form as he puffed out his chest and started again.

"Is 3.2 as low as you can go." And with that Harry saw that the clerk needed the sale to be at least two and a half since that would gain him the the profit margin on the text to buy.

"Of course, it is." The man boldly lied against Harry that wouldn't work. Harry enjoyed using his power, why did he ever stop.

"I can give you Two Galleons, that's really pushing it. The book is not well kept and has blood splatter upon it."

The store owner laughed as he countered again, but Harry found the number he needed to hit. He had already won this encounter by knowing more than his opponent did. Vernon did install some values in his peeking from the cupboard.

* * *

The Wheel of Fortune.

Spending around two and a half thousand pounds was difficult for someone who never held money of his own, but this book was well and worth it. An Egyptian warlock named Aouaa wrote it. As interesting as that was, the text of the other writer, Sirius Black, was an exciting journal of a Cursebreaker in Upper Egypt attempting to locate a particular manuscript from a specific king rumored to reside in the Valley of the Kings, berried. His entries read like a story, in which Harry loved every moment. Harry spent the following weeks visiting stores and studying with Alastair near him, reviewing his text in between his study on language and reading Sirius's exploits. The Monday before his departure was his first instance of learning from his old friend. It was a brief section near the beginning, written only in Greek, discussing how using various catalysts would bring enchanted items different effects, with a large emphasis on blood. Though it called blood by many names, sometimes wizard blood, other times witch. The lifeblood of innocents and liars, of goblins and wyverns.

Eventually, the 27th had arrived which carried Harry to the doors of Luxurious Lenses. The shop was quaint and normal compared to the rest of Diagon Alley. As Harry entered the front door he witnessed Master Harris bent over a pair of spectacles, poking and prodding at it, mumbling in Latin throughout. Harry watched with interest as the man worked over the equipment until a smile graced his face, looking up and seeing Harry caused the man to grin wide, which Harry returned in his own reserved way.

"Welcome Harry, how have the weeks treated you." The man asked in a noninvasive way.

"They have been good, I've explored the Alleys a bunch, I think I saw a lot of kids bound for Hogwarts." He intentionally left out his jaunts into Knockturn Alley, not knowing what the kind man would think dark alley, now that Harry knew its reputation, one that didn't dissuade him from going.

"Ah yes Hogwarts, I attended there myself, I was a proud Slytherin. Maybe you can join me." Harry's smile grew at someone wants to be associated with him, a confusing but comforting thought. "But anyway, you came here for glasses, and glasses I have." Reaching below the counter he grabbed a sleeve, putting it out on the table he pulled them out. The glasses looked just like the ones he was wearing but had energy coursing through them. Not like his cards, but more akin to a magical book from the old shop. It was indifferent to the reader but still held power. Reaching down and removing his current set, he placed the fresh ones on. He still saw the same, so nothing about them changed his vision. "If you tap right there, the glasses will 'stick' to the back your ears and nose, locking them in place. I also arranged some protective enchantments on the pair."

"Wow, this is so cool," Harry exclaimed. After activating the stick feature, it amazed him how he couldn't shake the glasses. It didn't even hurt to pull them though they stayed attached through his attempt. "Thank you so much for this really, I don't know if I can thank you enough. Are you sure I can't compensate you for this?"

Master Harris laughed at him. "I get enough customers as it is, a benefit of being the best, and you are a special boy Harry, this is the least I can do, now out, I have more work to do and a boy like yourself shouldn't be cooped up inside," It was a good-natured jest, but Harry felt the rejection all the same. As he strolled back to his room to rest, he realized tomorrow was the full moon.

* * *

The Wheel of Fortune.

Harry sat awake under the light of the moon, his deck maneuvering to his hands call. Breathe and shuffle, breathe and shuffle. Cut, Cut, Shuffle. He worked into a trance with no discernible pattern, just breathing while cutting and shuffling allowing the cards to guide him. Then he flipped the three top cards.

Ace of Wands. The High Priestess. The Four of Cups.

Well, at least it wasn't all major arcana this time. Harry first analyzed the Ace of Wands. A single hand grasping onto a wand over a landscape, symbolizing a pivotal act that will lead down the path. Wands signified choices and moments of life, the suit governed action. Harry assumed this had been his decision to reply to the letter, to become his own person, to break from the mold of the Dursleys and to be free.

The High Priestess was different, a member of the major arcana, depicted by the number II. She was a regal and holy woman sitteth between pillars of black and white. Her face bore no smile and stared straight at him. She symbolized secrets that need to be understood, though she also stands in his way. Perhaps she represented the magical world, or maybe Professor Sprout, or Master Harris, what details did he need to be wary of, possibly concerning 'the-boy-who-lived'. She was a cold card to draw for his present as his spread may indicate that if he follows the way of the High Priestess it would bring about his fate.

His future was The Four of Cups, not the best card to draw. Cups represented emotion and relationships, with the four being isolation or dissatisfaction with his future relations. It could also be a longing for change, or emotional uncomfort. For entering an unknown world in hopes of a fresh start, it was not the most comforting card. Much like The Hermit he had seen The Four of Cups often in his cards. In the end, it doesn't matter, Hogwarts is only four days away.

* * *

The Wheel of Fortune.

As the sun was creeping into his white room, Harry was already up and about. Today was the day. Today Harry would set off for Hogwarts and begin his adventure in the world of magic. He scavenged the empty room and began taking inventory, inspecting under the bed and within other crevices as he looked for any belongings were sure to be forgotten. After double and then triple checking to make certain that his full ensemble was with him, he turned to Alastair. The toad's intelligent eyes looked back at him, the blank stare carrying more than it showed.

"Well, it looks like we'll be heading out," his companion stared back, the unassuming intelligence in his eyes bored into the newly found wizard. Grabbing onto his truck, he made his way from the room of the last few months. The last things packed in his chest being various books: fantasy epics, magical word theory, bestiaries, and yesterday's version of Carpe Diem Collective the second most popular wizarding outlet, one that focused more on magical happenstance than local gossip, of all the papers he tried he liked it the best.

Waving to the various doctors and nurses who had been most of his contact the last few weeks had solemn goodbyes spoken all around. The longest farewell was Doctor Thompson, his personal doctor, who had spent a great deal of time with the boy. The kind man shed tears, as he and Harry did an embrace, it was a strange sensation for the boy, he had never been hugged before. He did not have any of the feelings he had felt from Dudley during the exchanges with his parents. Harry wondered why.

As he walked the street, the beauty of the Alleys again blew him away, despite exploring the labyrinth of shops and houses he was still no closer to understanding it. Like how Intersection just so happened to cross every other alley at a right angle despite being perfectly straight, or how the entire district appeared too large to fit while having expansion charms within it.

Finding the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, he rhythmically tapped the bricks, exposing the pub to the boy. Waving to Tom, the barkeep who made more food in the month for him than the Dursleys ever did, he pulled himself through the pub. Harry wondered when Tom slept, as he seemed to always be there, tending the bar.

Exiting the pub and walking onto the streets of London, Harry took a breath of the city air, thick with smoke from the various factories and automobiles. The stark contrast between his new and old world was staggering, wondering how they managed to be separated all this time. He knew that the answer, the Statute of Security, but surely that could not account for everything. Pushing aside those thoughts, he focused on the task in front of him getting to his destination. Sticking out his wonderful partner, he called the Knights Bus. A hazy looking gentleman was his conductor for the day. The gentleman collecting his small fare for transport, he departed to Kings Cross Station.

After fifteen minutes of travel his stop arrived, the early morning not having many stops. Walking through the rail yard with various busybodies around him was hard, his slight frame and the large heavy load being caught in the flood of people around him, finding the mark depicting the location for 9 ¾ was even harder than traversing the sea. After a half an hour of searching he found it, on one pillar marking both platform 9 and platform 10 shown the sign of Hogwarts, the four animals on a shield. Remembering Professor Sprout's words, he stepped up to the wall and purposefully marched into it. Instead of feeling any resistance, he kept moving and entered the platform as if the barrier didn't exist.

The platform was much older than the station he had just left, its bricks were more faded, its tiles while cleaner was also a different material. On the tracks sat an enormous steam engine with a red and black color scheme. There were a few bodies on the platform but nowhere near what he envisioned the population of the school to be, especially given the length of the train. Entering the transportation train, he found a seat close to the back, shutting the door behind him. Harry pulled out the story he had started to read, afraid to study from his grimoire (which is what he had selected to calling his longest-held book), in public.

The novel, _Voyages with Vampires_, depicted Gilderoy Lockhart and his friend Vũ Kim Phú as the pair save a resort cruiser a vampire clan only known as Kuroi te, or The Black Hand, had seized. It was an amazing read, full of knowledge on vampires and some creatures which followed them. The last chapter had depicted Lockhart doing battle with a terrible foe, which all turned out to be a half-demon, half-vampire named Arita Azumi. Vũ ended the fight by finding the spell _Erysipelas Concrepo_ and using it on the demon, making it succumb to the beyond. The spell had the minor effect of causing a large blasting sound, alerting more people to the duo's location.

Harry was drawn into the book, reading the exploits of the man amazed him, each page produced a new spell or piece of knowledge Harry never heard of, or showed a new and interesting creature, or had witty dialogue that produced a smile. The next time he looked up he noticed that he was not alone.

* * *

The Wheel of Fortune.

His compartment had added a pair of identical-looking women. Each would be considered average height for Harry's age and had immaculate black hair that went straight down. Their eyes were the most captivating part of them though, for they had a rich purple gleam to them. Looking into their eyes, Harry saw a stunning amethyst gem in their place. After an intense scan of their features, the two displayed some dissimilarities. The left one had a modest mole under her right eye, and the right one had a speckling of freckles. Both, however, were without a doubt gorgeous.

The freckled girl gave a slight cough as if waiting for something. After fleeting moments, the left one spoke. "Hello, I am Hestia, and this is my sister Flora, we are from the house, Carrow." Her voice was irritated and hard as she gave her head a slight bow.

"I'm Harry, and it is my first year here at Hogwarts. It's nice to meet you." He gave her a nod back.

"We are second years," This time Flora cut in, her sweet voice softer than her sisters, "we are in Slytherin." She sounded happy at this revelation. "What house are you looking forward too?" Her voice held a hint of an edge as if he answered wrong there would be consequences.

Harry assumed that two of the houses were Hufflepuff and Slytherin. He wondered how many existed. He assumed Professor Sprout was the head of Hufflepuff, and he liked her. On the other hand, Master Harris told him he would like Harry in Slytherin just like him. "Well, I am hoping for Slytherin like you, but I wouldn't mind going into Hufflepuff. Professor Sprout is really nice, you see." He said the last part with a rush of blood to his face.

As he continued his watch at the girls before him, they showed him a slight grin, whether for the comment or his blush stayed unknown. After a moment, Hestia gained a semblance of confusion and tilted her head. "How did you meet Professor Sprout?"

"Oh, she is the one who took me shopping."

"Why did you need help shopping, you aren't a muggleborn are you?" She said with distaste in her mouth. The goodwill he earned evaporating in an instant.

"Hestia, calm down."

"It's just a question Flora, plus, you know how our mother would feel if we associated with one."

"Well, I am an orphan." Harry decided he had enough listening to their argument, more so over him. He appreciated Flora's coming to his aid, but the act confused him about what problem existed, "I had lived in the muggle world until the good professor found me and have been living in Diagon Alley ever since. But my parents could do magic, they paid for my dues before they died." He said, defending against the notion he was born of muggles, he had seen the disdain people looked at him with when they associated him with that name, and he hoped he would make friends with the dark-haired duo in front of him.

"Oh, you poor thing." Hestia moved in to give him a small hug, Harry blushed again at being hugged by such a pretty girl. This embrace was altered from the one this morning, it gave comfort, instead of one in looming sorrow like this morning. Harry's heart fluttered in this touch; this hug was closer to what Dudley felt but still offbeat. The seconds went by and he looked to Flora, confused about why he was still in the embrace of Hestia, in her eyes he received flashes, but with great focus stopped them, after the traumatizing encounter featuring the crystal ball he was weary of looking, the thoughts in the shop, of power and control, making it worse.

As Flora was about to speak the loud cry of the train's whistle cut her off, causing Hestia to jump back to her seat, mirroring the coloration that Harry spouted, and after that, the locomotive slowly moved forward, onto the destination that left the entire train in anticipation.

To Hogwarts.

* * *

As the train continued chugging along the triplet had meaningless conversations, mostly comprising an introduction to the foreign world denied to Harry. their first encounter cut this light conversation the trio was making short. A smaller boy opened the compartment door with significant force. He was a platinum blonde with long flowing hair, knotted in the back. Besides the striking platinum hair, he also possessed stormy grey eyes. He was the epitome of what Harry imagined of when he visualized an elf, with a pointed nose and high sharp cheekbones. Dwarfing him and flanking him positioned two other boys, though they looked to be older than everyone else in the compartments and larger than all four combined. The one on the left stood taller whilst the one on the right was wider.

"Ah the Carrows, and their welcome to school snack." The boy in the middle proclaimed, taking a seat next to Flora, as Hestia was now sitting on the same side as Harry. "Father was disappointed that you two were not at Midsummer. Though it makes sense after hearing what happened to your cousin at the hand of our new Defense professor." The twins glared at the boy, Harry assumed he should as well, but stopped himself. The elf sounded cocky and proud, his eyes seemed to loom down on the whole compartment, despite only being taller than Harry.

"Is that it, Malfoy?" Hestia questioned him, the leader, though her tone voiced more submissive than usual. The tone displayed her hope the boy would leave them. He wondered how they all knew each other and despised one another. A glance at Flora saw that Hestia was not alone in her feelings.

"Actually, I think that you can help me. You see, I am looking for Potter, I hear he is going to Hogwarts this year, The Board couldn't stop talking about it."

"We have not seen a single Potter, so you can leave."

"You could help me look you know, despite your," He paused and made a face as if he just licked dung, "unpleasant family, I would appreciate the help."

In an attempt to save the pair from further abuse Harry uncharacteristically spoke up making himself a martyr for the two girls, maybe because he was talking to someone his age for once, but he wanted to protect these two. "I am a Potter." It came out stronger than he felt.

Draco for the second time acknowledged his presence. He looked over the small, frail boy with contempt. "You expect me to believe that you, a small disheveled looking thing is Harry Potter?"

"Well I am Harry Potter."

"Then show me the scar."

"Which scar." He had many.

"Which scar," He scoffed, "well Carrows it seems that I was wrong," He scowled at the two, "you could go lower. You can keep your little lying mudblood toy. Maybe you won't choke on his thick blood, though I doubt it. Come Crabbe, Goyle." The small boy twirled his cloak and stalked out of the compartment, the man on his right shutting the door behind them.

"That was amazing Harry, you showed him," Hestia said with awe in her eyes, "What scar, classic."

Flora spoke differently, "That was dangerous Harry, Draco Malfoy has a dangerous father, you don't want to get on his bad side." She warned him.

Harry merely looked at the pair in confusion, "But why was he looking for me?"

Again, Flora replied, "That is enough joking."

"But I'm not"

"Whatever."

With that, Hestia moved back to her sister and Harry went back to reading his book, mumbling an apology.

The train continued. Harry remembered the Four of Cups, and yet couldn't speak.

The next interruption introduced a duo of students, a girl, and a boy. To be fair, many pupils had shown their faces, people all the way to the size of adults had investigated their compartment only to be disappointed mumblings of Potter echoing into their compartment. This pair was unique. They both had brown hair, but that is where the similarities ended. The boy had hazel eyes, whilst the girl examined the compartment in a brownish hue. His hair was bowl-cut and strait, hers appeared a curly mess. He was pudgy against her slim form. She also had large front teeth on her curved face. "Have any of you seen a toad?" the girl inquired, her voice made Harry remember the girl from his robe fitting, Gemma Ansley, with the condescending tone she managed the question in.

As always, the confident Hestia answered, "Yes." Her voice projected full of amusement.

"Really." The boy spoke up, his face lighting up.

"Mhmm, right there." She pointed to the spot currently occupied by a caged Alastair.

"But, that's not Trevor."

"Well spotted, he is Alastair, and he is mine." Harry cut in, confused at the slow boy.

"That's rude." The bushy-haired one said to Hestia. A hard glare leveled at the girl.

"Maybe you should have specified then, hmm." Hestia teased.

"Let's go, Neville." With that the bushy brunette left, dragging the poor boy with her, his face still confused about Hestia's statement.

"She's absolutely mental, and a muggleborn to boot," Flora remarked.

"Definitely mental." Harry agreed but wondered again why being muggleborn was so bad.

The conductor announced they were on the final two hours. As Harry attempted to talk to the Carrows again, a boy with red hair interrupted them. It was not a handsome red either, but an angry orange. He barged in with no warning; he didn't stay long however just speaking one run-on sentence. "Have any of you seen Harry, oh, just kidding, you are snakes." Leaving with the same cruel expression Draco had. Sadly, his comment had taken too much out of Harry's sails, the dreaded topic of his name being brought up again left the twins sharing unimpressed faces towards Harry. Thus, Harry sat, reading as the two talked about what they looked ahead to at Hogwarts, eager to start.

Harry knew his future.

The Four of Cups.


	7. Chapter 6: The Four of Cups I

**Chapter Six: The Four of Cups I**

**AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. We made it past chapter 5 woohoo. I realize we are past 43 thousand words and not much has happened yet, it will. I need to develop and give motive to characters, after the first week of school we can time jump to other major events, the first year of the story will not have much for adventure, that will enter in the later books in a better-established world. Stay safe everyone, these are hard times, stay home.**

* * *

The Four of Cups.

The whistle sounded, and the train halted. The Carrows and Harry exchanged light farewells, but not to the standard that Harry hoped, fighting back tears, his images of a great friendship forming being crushed by the weight of four cups. Harry hefted down his luggage when Hestia remarked to him he should merely leave it. The Hogwarts Staff would know that it belonged to him and the trunk would be in his dorm that night. With his pointed hat upon his head he walked the train, an endeavor that took far longer than it should have, his fellow students bumped into with nary an apology. Harry just kept his head down, already wishing to be back in Diagon Alley. He missed the few relationships that he had, the bustle of the medical wing in the morning, the overflowing streets full of smiles. Here, on the train, he was pushed around, ignored, unwanted. A strange reminder of his former home life, which he had never hoped to experience again. Making his way to the platform, he surveyed the area. A bustling village surrounded the tracks, near as busy as the main strip of the alley, full of men and women watching the train, and more likely, its contents with anticipation. The sprawling town appeared old-fashioned, but also magic, rustic houses glittered around with buildings less gravity-defying than that of the alley, but still the small city hummed with the unseen power which was magic, it presented a comfortable feeling, warm and embracing. Since the sun was setting in the sky, the streets required lights, but apparently, they applied modified streetlamps with lightning from a ball of magic that emitted a radiant glow. He wondered how houses pumped water without power, as in the magical world he had never seen electricity anywhere. When a light was needed people used their wands, when something high they used their wands, technology stood still because of the ability to use a wand. Why invent a lorry when you can fly a broom?

"First Years, First Years over here." Harry turned to search for the source of the sound, which resonated as a deep and powerful voice. A bass singer would be jealous of the notes the man achieved. Near an outdoor stairwell stood a giant of a man. That was not hyperbole. The man reached just under three meters tall, almost as high as the surrounding lamppost. He looked like a mountain man, his hair going down his back, his curly beard carrying on for many feet in all directions, comparing this man's size to a lorry would not be unfounded. Harry searched for the comfort of the regular, turning to locate Hestia and Flora only to notice them heading the other way. He spotted them entering a carriage pulled by a strange-looking black horse with wings. A horrifying creature that resembled bones with a thin skin cover. The twins, to his regret, did not look for him.

The crowd in front of Harry shuffled forward. He went with it, hoping not to be a dinner for the great wild man. They climbed up a set of very slippery stairs with no handrails cut from the land itself, a massive stone expanse on their left, the lack of traction causing some people to stumble. The assembly continued the treacherous walk until the mass reached the apex of the hill they stood atop. A few of the students had their hands on their legs, breathing heavily from the trek they just completed. Then the group moved down, further and further down, the slick mossy floor beneath them causing all to move slow and deliberate, out some ways, near the bottom of the natural stair, a large mass of black water stretched, giving off a foreboding sense of the unknown, it gave off a powerful sensation, with many small rowboats on its bank. The clear sky above was visible upon the surface of the expense as if the universe blanketed the boats on the shore. As they continued moving Harry's skin tingled, looking ahead he saw more, something that before was invisible to his eyes. Bordering the lake, reaching over it at times, was a glorious stone keep. It possessed tall towers and massive buildings, each one lit up in yellow light. It was gothic, matching the vast expanse of forest stretching beyond. Harry stopped and stared at the beauty and power this building projected. He remembered how he had viewed Gringotts the month previous, deciding he should have taken the bet he had generated, as the castle Hogwarts was by far more beautiful and majestic than any of the halls of Gringotts. Harry was not alone as the first year's mouths gaped at the sight.

"C'mon first years, keep up." The gigantic man shouted, vibrating the very steps the children walked upon, "We're a'most there." Collectively the first years began the march down being led to a docking station on the shore of the massive lake, with more than a handful of boats shaped like rowboats but without rows, and appeared large enough to seat eight people comfortably, a far cry from the tiny things they looked from the hill. "A'right, no more than four to a boat now, and be sure to mind your head over there." His kite of a hand stretched out to an overhang which held a collection of stalagmites hanging from it and a draping plant, not unlike a curtain. The students started sitting in the boats, most choosing to do so with friends they made on the train, Harry was not that lucky. He sat with a group of three boys. Each introduced themselves, they were Justin, Ernie (you can call me Macmillan), and Terry. He offered himself as Harry and the four talked about how excited they were. Terry and Justin started in a compartment together, and later Ernie joined them. The three bonded over a mutual love of sports, though different games for each boy. Harry felt his opportunity of friendship sinking faster than the titanic, his inability to connect with his peers squishing him of emotion.

They docked after the rough ride through the cavern, everyone got out and collected their bearing's in the underground harbor, which was their destination, through the stalagmite cave and beyond. The giant, after making sure each person was standing, started walking up more stairs. A groan sounded from a substantial portion of the group. The wild man stopped and waved for everyone to follow. Climbing a spiral stair led them to a huge oaken door that the giant pushed open with ease, allowing the crowd to walk into a magnificent hall.

The entrance had two separate enormous door sets, not including the one they previously exited, as well as two grand staircases one going up, one going down. The stair going up had four tall hourglasses flanking it. From left to right they were red, blue, yellow, and green. The giant then wished everyone luck and walk up the stairs, leaving the bumble of children alone and unsupervised. Harry stood with the boys he had been on the boat with, pretending to be part of a group as the sounds of delightful conversation and petty arguing overtook the hall. Until a regal woman entered from the next level.

She was an older woman with thin lips and a wrinkled face, but they were tight wrinkles not droopy. Her eyes were hiding behind thick square glasses and atop her head was a hat that crooked to the side. Her robes were an emerald color. Maybe an homage to the green hourglass? She cleared her voice and moved down the steps with a grace belonging to someone much younger, despite how light the footsteps looked they echoed in the now silent hall. "Hello students, I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor, and Transfiguration Head." She paused and surveyed the group. "Today you shall begin your first year at Hogwarts, the finest school in all the world." She let the statement hang over the room, brimming with pride. "Now, we will head into the Great Hall to be sorted and to start the feast. The sorter will describe the houses so pay attention to his words, for they will decide your fate for the next seven years of your lives, perhaps further."

"So, we don't have to fight a troll." The orange-haired boy yelled out. He looked down, his cheeks reddening at the glare that he received, the teacher's eye looking down on him hard and vicious.

"No, you don't. As I was saying your house should be like your family, and at Hogwarts the most respectable school in the world we also would like to know which family is the best, in the school." She added the last part with haste as if they could misinterpret it. She then held her arms out to display the hourglasses on either side of the stairwell, "These glasses keep track of house points. Things of merit gain points. Things of consequence lose them. At the end of the year the house with the most points gains the house cup, which carries with it privileges such as priority on scheduling for house events and an overall bump of 3% to all of your final scores." Chatter built up in the hall again after that announcement. "In addition," she started, calming the group down again, "the student who gains the most house points in each year receives another 2% and will have this merit noted on transcripts. Now, let us enter the Great Hall and get you all sorted." The surprisingly springy professor strolled through the students without another word and walked to the second biggest set of double doors.

She tapped her wand on the massive gates, wide enough for the train to penetrate, causing them to swing open revealing another spectacular room. It was the most magnificent thing Harry had ever been in, with stained glass windows stretching many meters high. The long hall housed five long tables, four of them housing students, each sat one of the four colors on their own, completely segregated, the last table hosted many regal-looking figures, as well as the giant on the far end. Directly in front, centered in the room, positioned before a throne-like chair, with a man who seemed older than Mister Olivander and who possessed a beard longer than the giant's hair, was a simple three-legged stool with a hat on it. As he followed one window up, Harry saw the sky, as the ceiling opened into the world beyond letting it breathe on the inside. At the master table Harry recognized Quirrell, Sprout, and Fillius. His former tour guide gave him a cheerful wave which he returned, blushing at the attention he gained for it. Getting lost in the splendor he bumped into the boy in front of him. They all seemed to have stopped, and McGonagall was standing next to the hat, which made shapes, on its own.

Then it sang.

Its words rhymed as the hat projected its voice over the hall. It spoke of its appearance and general intelligence. Of its superiority. Then the animated fabric described the houses.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folks use any means

To achieve their ends.

With its final verse, it wrapped up its song.

After the male voice stopped singing clapping broke out over the hall. Wasting no time, after the applause finished, Professor McGonagall shouted out a name. "Hannah Abbot." With that, the sorting began. After the girl walked up, took off her cap, with Professor McGonagall putting on the talking one, the assembly sat in anticipation. After a few moments, less than 15 seconds, it yelled out Hufflepuff. She went to the table on Harry's right, which was standing up and applauding. This would take forever if this happens every sorting as roughly fifty students were in waiting. Which it did. Harry stood in boredom as person after person went up to find their new family.

All the while Harry wished to see the house he belonged to, but he didn't know if he could be sorted. He wasn't brave, nor loyal, nor witty, nor cunning. But he supposed that real friends sounded nice. "Harry Potter." The previously applauding room became silent, a pin could drop and the echo would persist for eternity. He gained tunnel vision to the seat and ambled, not having to fight past anyone as most of the children had been sorted before him. Harry watched people strain their necks in his peripheral sight to look at him. A slight buzz of gossip arose. He focused on the stool which behind it bore an ancient man with kind blue eyes, not unlike a sapphire. His robes were purple with actual twinkling stars on them, more dazzling than the ones in the sky. He smiled at Harry and the pressure immediately lifted.

Harry turned to face the school, which looked back with anticipation as he removed his hat and sat down. Then he felt it on his head, the hat falling over his eyes, blinding him to the world, trapping him in his thoughts. Then something entered his head, like when he witnessed what people did, but different, as if he was giving someone that instead. "Hmm, interesting, difficult, very difficult." The hat spoke, but not out loud, but within. Like an itch within his head. "You have quite the mind in you Mr. Potter, but where to place you." He remained silent to the hat's query; it knew all the answers to its questions. "You are quite right; I do know the answers. Which makes this tough. You've experienced hard work, but dislike it, you are brilliant and a brilliant study, but shun the results, you are courageous but cannot see that, and you have an ambition that you reject. You are a walking contradiction and thus are so troublesome to sort."

Harry let the hat go. It saw the truth, hiding facts would not work, and conversing would achieve nothing. "That is a Ravenclaw tendency you know, working that out," the hat pondered over its statement, "but you would reject them if I put you there, you would become isolated." It stopped again. The pair sat in silence as Harry's mind was open for his audience of one to witness, "I think Slytherin should be your home, for they would help you grow." A wave of euphoria hit on that, that was Master Harris's house, the house of the Carrows, the house of friends. "Very well then, SLYTHERIN." The word echoed in and out of his head, staying in the hall, reverberating on its walls.

He did not hear applause.

McGonagall removed the hat. No one cheered.

He almost cried, even now he was not accepted, coming to a fresh world changed nothing, he was still a useless boy meant for the cupboard.

Until a faint patter arose behind him, the old man stood from his throne with a large smile upon his face and applauded, alone in the entire hall, for the boy, then Sprout joined, and Quirrell, looking to the Slytherin table showed the Carrow's giving him courteous looks and clapping, the rest joining with them till the hall filled with cheering, not only his house but by all the houses. As tears started moving down his face as he moved to the table, Happy to feel accepted for once in his life.

Take that Four of Cups.

* * *

Maneuvering to the table, down the small stairs which led to the sorting area. His first thought to sit with the Carrow twins, as they were familiar, lasted until he saw them surrounded. He could possibly squeeze in, though they would probably consider it rude. As he moved further down the table he spotted people who had been sorted with him, half a gaggle of girls, the other a gang of guys. They all sat on the far end of the table, behind Harry Francis Prewitt was being sorted, causing Harry to have trek all the way down. By the time he made it to his seat, Hufflepuff sounded. He sat next to a bay who introduced himself as Theodore Nott, as opposed to the rude elven boy from the train.

Theodore Nott was definitely someone commonly described as attractive. He had crisp brown hair and stunning hazel eyes. His face appeared hard, but not rough, with shoulders which would broaden into a large chested powerful man. Harry introduced himself to a resounding "We Know," which was not at all strange given how he was just sorted. The group watched with a brief conversation as the sorting continued. Harry found it odd how other houses seemed to get a larger number of students, considering how since his name sounded no one else went to Slytherin. It took until the last person, Blaise Zabini, to get another member. As he looked down the table it seemed less crowded than the others. The groups around the hall had burst into many quiet conversations as if everyone was waiting for something, then the moment Blaise sat down, the elderly man who clapped for him stood. His robes glistening as much as his eyes.

"Welcome, Welcome all." His voice resonated, powerful but kind. He sounded as a professionally trained singer, and he delivered as if an entire band stood in front of him. "Another year at Hogwarts, yet, it still feels new." He spoke slowly as if every moment was dear to him. The aged man looked off until Professor McGonagall tugged on his robe with a glare. "Sorry about that, I was remembering my first day and my sorting, which no, was not performed by the founders." His eyes shown full of mirth as he launched a false glare at the Gryffindor table. Laughter sounded throughout the hall. "Now, as I am sure we are all very hungry, despite our school being located in Scotland." Various people chucked around the chamber thou, not as many as before, the loudest amongst them being Fillius. Professor McGonagall continued her glare. The old man, while looking around the room, acknowledged her murderous look and held up his arms in mock surrender. "I shall introduce myself, I am Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster of this amazing school, and whilst I only teach one course, I wish for you all to know that my door is always open. Finally, we must always stick to tradition so: Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak." As he finished the words, a feast appeared on every table. He smiled at the room and sat on his way down taking a sizeable chunk of a blue pie, seemingly not getting the rules about dinner before sweets...

Harry looked at the cornucopia in front of him. Assembled before him was an extensive selection of meats, stews, and casseroles. Reaching out he began adding the freshly prepared food to his plate, weary that someone would yell at him, though it never came. He started to eat, savoring every precious bite, carefully using utensils as he had learned during his stay in the alley. As he looked up, he noticed that the group of boys surrounding him were not as solitary as Harry. They laughed and bantered within the gathering as if they had been long time friends, even the girls sitting a few seats down were engaged in their conversation. The strangest part was the groups formed independently and yet had merged perfectly, as if they knew how many would be sorted. It was odd as their table appeared the only one with such a separation, the rest having clumps of students all interchangeably sat with gender.

"So, you were not lying on the train, I guess I owe those bloodsuckers an apology, names Draco Malfoy." The petite boy said over the chatty hall, his voice sounding practiced. Harry pushed down his anger at the probable insult to the twins he had spent so much of the day with despite not being friends.

"I'm Harry Potter." He replied in his soft voice.

"Ya, sorry for not believing you and all, no hard feeling right."

Worm, this disgusting leech, this horrible beast should be put down right now, take your knife and end him. "Ya, it is ok. That happens more than you would think."

"Names Blaise Zabini." Harry studied the new boy. His voice sounded quite effeminate, matching his general appearance. One would call him pretty, even. He was a dark boy with chestnut eyes and long straight black hair.

"Harry Potter."

"I know that it's hard to not know that you are Harry Potter." He replied, giving Draco a loathing glance.

"Oh, you must have paid fantastic attention to the sorting then, to be honest, I forgot almost everyone's names while they were sorted, even yours." Harry attempted to joke.

The boy's eyes narrowed in a glare, and he turned away from Harry, instead, conversating with Draco. Was he offended?

"So, Potter, where have you been all of these years? I read your last one, it was good." Theodore spoke to him with a bit of awe in his eyes. Read his last what?

"I don't exactly understand what you mean?" Harry questioned.

"Who do you live with? It never really says."

"Oh, I lived with Vernon and Petunia."

"Who?"

"Vernon and Petunia, my aunt and uncle." The words went against his years of training, but he needed it to explain to his fellow Slytherins. A glance around showed Harry as the object of attention to his fellow first years. Though not the twins, they held conversation elsewhere.

"What family were they." It was a girl who asked that she was pretty, except for her upturned nose.

"The Dursley's?"

"I don't know that family." Theodore entered again.

"Oh, they are, how did Professor Sprout say it, muggles." Silence hung over the table until Theodore laughed loudly.

"That's funny Potter, that is funny." They kept calling him Potter, maybe he should call them by their last names. Harry gave a slight smile, not knowing the reason for his laughter, but happy he had brought joy to someone. A glancing investigation revealed Draco and his followers giggling as well, and most of the ladies. In fact, the only members not smiling were Blaise and a blonde and brunette female pair. The three looked at Harry with abhorrence. Harry just smiled into his food, happy to eat with his new family.

Take that Four of Cups.

* * *

After the entire hall had seemed to eat their fill and dissolve into talking about the upcoming classes or what they did over the summer Dumbledore rose again. A slight wave washed over him as the chamber focused on the ancient man. "Yes, Yes, now that everyone has eaten their fill, we can officially begin the year. And what would the year's start be without rules?" He gave an enormous grin at that. The far table gave a collective groan.

"Now, as I must mention every year, the forbidden forest is, as its name describes, forbidden. Unless you wish to face death at the hands of a XXXXX beast, you shall not stray without the aid of a teacher." Despite the joking nature of the sentences start, he became serious at the end, "To add to that we are doing a bit of magical research in the 3rd-floor corridor on the right-hand side of the grand stairwell, thus it is out of bounds, for if you are there without teachers aid, well, that is a folly I wish upon no one." He was somber, his gaze lingering longer on the Gryffindors again. "As a reminder, magic should be performed in the classroom only, we have many unused rooms if one wishes to lay ownership to one abandoned classroom be my guest, but please be mindful of others. And finally, to end on a high note it seems that all house teams wish to have Quidditch tryouts two weeks from today, we have assigned the pitch to the first day of the week starting with Gryffindor and moving across the hall. All other clubs will have notices in the Entry Hall for sign-ups, I myself am looking forward to Professor Flitwick's Dueling Club. Now off to bed everyone, after the school song."

Harry did not understand what the school song was, he didn't know he needed to memorize it. Until the chamber inflated with the tune, and the words and melody entered his head, it was strange, he felt if he tried he could stop it, by why should he, it was just a harmless tune. He smiled along with everyone else as the song swelled in the hall. There was a power to the music, a beat that brought hope with it. He swayed and sang, negative thoughts seemed to vanish from him as he chanted the wonderful number.

"Ah, music, magic old as time." The headmaster spoke out, a shimmer of tears upon his face. Harry had to agree.

The tables rose, the center aisle first with Ravenclaw being the first out, then Hufflepuff, then Gryffindor, and last, Slytherin. The group walked together with some minor conversation, the older students leading the way. When they made it back into the entrance hall the older Slytherins all took off down the stairs, leaving only the first years and a single pair of students, one boy, and one girl.

"Welcome to Slytherin everyone, you did it, you got the best house." The girl spoke up, prompting a cheer by the group she was escorting. "Now, as most of you already know, I am Gemma Farley and that is Damian Cunningham. We are the two fifth-year prefects." She was beaming with pride at that. "Now, the Slytherin common room is located on the second sublevel of Hogwarts, now follow close as I will show you the most direct route." The pair of students started maneuvering the castle like the back of their hand, going through long empty hallways and down dank staircases. As they were going down one such hallway one girl in the group screamed. Looking towards her saw the culprit for her action. Harry, along with a few others, joined.

Before the girl was a translucent man, his body was all grayscale, even the blood dripping from his abdomen that floated up into the room as a dissipating mist when contacting a solid surface. He wore a wig and had a large mustache. And a sword that dripped similarly. He sniffed the air, "New Blood, make us proud." He then entered the wall and leave the room.

"Well, that was the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin ghost. Don't worry, he can't harm anyone." She spoke, calming down the assembly. Harry wasn't sure about that. As translucent as the ghost looked, his sword appeared deadly.

The group continued, Harry almost slipped on the spot where the spirit had been moments before, looking down displayed a patch of blood below his foot. The cluster settled on an unassuming bit of wall after a few more moments of travel. "Ambition." The male of the duo talked his voice even. Turning to the crowd he spoke again, "Our common room is password protected, in addition to this only Slytherins are allowed to know its location or its password, Balor greets you if you are the reason someone finds out both. Curfew is at 8 o'clock for you folk first semester, and students can leave the common room after six in the morning, no earlier." As he spoke, the wall behind him faded into a door. He opened it into a beautiful and large room with an ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The room had a bit of a green tint to it, walking into the room saw fishes swimming above the group, it appeared the common room was under the lake.

After letting the crowd gape at the room, Gemma spoke again. "Professor Snape will hand timetables out at breakfast tomorrow, there will be the other school rules on the back of it, and a map with your marked classrooms, wouldn't want anyone to be late now, would we. The school classes don't start until Tuesday to allow everyone to find where their classroom locations. Questions?"

The silence answered her question. "All right, girls up, boys down. Each room has randomly picked pairs. Changes you want to make may be submitted after a month. Now, off to bed." She spoke, and the groups walked to their corresponding staircases.

The first rooms they passed housed older students' names on the front. They followed Damian, taking a right at the first intersection showing doors on both sides. The first read Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy, the two smiling, the second displayed Blaise Zabini and Gregory Goyle. The last room was for Harry Potter and Vincent Crabbe. Wishing everyone goodnight, each pair entered their room. It was when they had invaded the room, he realized that he never had talked to Crabbe, and Crabbe hadn't tried talking to him. When Harry tried starting up conversation Crabbe moved to the bathroom, after waiting Harry did the same. By the time he left the loo, Crabbe was sleeping. Harry, whilst trying to do the same, was introduced to a loud snoring beast. He finished his day making no true friends. With the Carrow twins being his last hope.

Curse the Four of Cups.

* * *

The next day started as the previous day ended, with his roommate pretending that he didn't exist. Harry awoke later than normal because of the interminable day that preceded it, and the loud sleeping situation. As a result, he sat in his bed, with no light, only holding his wand. For the hour until six he attempted the 'Lumos' charm from his textbook, a simple spell the book had said, very easy to do. Yet despite that nothing, no glow appeared. When it was six, he dressed and waited in bed, waiting for Crabbe to wake up. When the boy stirred, his wand sprouting out noise at half-past six, Harry tried to converse, voicing out a morning greeting.

The bigger boy just ignored Harry, going to the bathroom with his clothes. When he had finished his business, he left the bedroom forgetting Harry alone again. Harry, after a moment, followed him, working to the common room he witnessed the first years moving out, leaving only him behind. Picking up his pace he quickly made it to the assembly, following in step behind them all, but never a part of the collection. In front of him, they talked about the classes they were about to do, how it would compare to what they knew from prior learning, which teachers they would like the most. The entire trip to the Great Hall, Harry said nothing. In the Great Hall they sat as a group, Nott and Malfoy chatted about some event their dads were doing together with the three other boys listening with excitement. Harry, no matter how hard he tried, obtaining no entertainment in their boasting contest. He looked at the ladies sitting a few seats down and discovered a majority of them leaning in as well, again it was the two girls who had glared at him the previous meal who had no concern in the current conversation, instead, talking to each other. Perhaps they discussed an enjoyable subject, more than how the head of what not was visiting Malfoys house. He would most likely agree, as he would have found staring at the stairs of his youth more interesting. It was then he was kicked in the shin, looking up at his assailant, retreating inward he saw the dark-skinned boy glaring at him.

"Don't stare at people, it's rude." Blaise hushed his tone such that the other boys couldn't hear it over their obnoxious drabble.

"Sorry," Harry said, ducking his head in shame. This only irritated Zabini more. Harry was about to apologize when a swooping figure appeared behind Zabini. The man had moved silently, with ease of moment expected from a practiced dancer. The man stood short and pale. His eyes laid deep inside his head, and his lips thin as a line. The man's nose was enormous and drooped over his nostrils, giving him a bird beak appearance. His hair sat shoulder-length, shiny, and hung all around his face, framing it. He took his arm from within his cloak and gave Zabini a paper, then he took off down the table his wrap burrowing behind him, with his grace added to it he was like a bat in flight. He made the round to Harry.

The two made eye contact, and something strange happened. Harry sensed two emotions entangled with each other, remorse and resentment. Then nothing. From the corner of the man's eye, Harry saw a tear form. Then he gave Harry a piece of paper, revealing his schedule. As the man started walking away Harry shouted a thank you after him. He stopped and looked back wide-eyed before continuing out of the Great Hall.

"Why would you thank him for doing his job?" Nott questioned.

"Dunno felt like the right thing to do," Harry said, looking down at his plate of half-eaten food, deciding he was no longer hungry.

"Whatever. Say I'm gonna explore the castle and look for the classrooms. Who wants to come?"

"I have to write father."

"Same with mother."

"I'm going with Draco."

"Me too."

"I'll come with you." Harry finally spoke.

Nott appeared uneasy at the prospect but traveled with Harry all the same. As the boys split in the Entrance Hall, Harry and Nott walked to the Grand Stairwell. It was an exceptional expanse, with a jigsaw of stairs moving, twisting, turning, expanding, shrinking.

"Well, should we start with Monday," Harry suggested.

"Sure, why not, let's see, Charms is on the second floor." As the two walked up the stair's others shifted. Following the provided steps, they had made it to an opening with a large two on the mouth. The boys wandered in silence, bumbling through the hallways and getting twisted around. It was a painting on the wall that solved their problems, a Sir Anthony, escorting them to the correct room. Once walking back and forth from the stairs to the room a few times the pair was confident they could repeat it, focusing on transfiguration which was their next class, and located on the ground floor.

The day continued similarly. Throughout it the pair talked more, laughing at the absurd things they found, even stumbling into a wall that was not a wall. They laughed and jested at painting, even had a chat with an eccentric bathroom ghost. The pair had even skipped lunch. As dinner approached, they began the trek back.

"So, Potter. Who did you really grow up with because I have not seen you anywhere?"

"Well, I wasn't lying, I grew up with my aunt and uncle."

"I thought your dad was an only child."

"I don't know if he was, I grew up with my Mums."

"You grew up with muggles?" His voice carried shock.

"Ya." Harry was meek with his response.

"Let me get this straight, your mom was a mudblood, and muggles raised you. You are essentially a mudblood yourself." He sneered at Harry. The kind boy of the last hours disappeared. In his place stood an angry wolf. Harry shrank back. "You had me tricked Potter, not that I expected better from one of your kind, filthy no matter what you have done, or maybe that's why you did it." Despite the Great Hall not being far away, Nott put a lot of space between the two of them, leaving Harry alone again.

Following behind him, they entered the hall full of laughter and a tasty aroma. As Harry walked to his normal seat Nott glared at him. "That spot is taken." Harry sat further down the table, seated by himself, lightly picking over the food in front of him, never looking down the table. Another silent proceeding followed until sleep. Harry had brought out his book, holding it close to his chest, a single tear escaping his normally blank face.

The Four of Cups.

* * *

**Should I do endnotes? Fic suggestions?**


	8. Chapter 7: The Four of Cups II

**Chapter Seven: The Four of Cups II**  
**  
**  
**AN: Rights are to ****JK**** Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. Two chapters ago (I write two chapters ahead) I doubled my reviews for the story over 2 days, and that was a special feeling. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think! ****I realize we are past 48 thousand words and not much has happened yet, it will. I need to develop and give motive to characters, after the first week of school we can time jump to other major events, the first year of the story will not have much for adventure, that will enter in the later books in a better-established world.**** I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. Sorry, this chapter is a little shorter.**

**Note again, I like having Harry's grandparents be ****Dorea**** and ****Charlus****.**

* * *

The Four of Cups.

The next morning began as the day prior, minus a few details. Harry's face remained wetted with tears, and he journeyed as the lone Slytherin first year to breakfast.

Tuesday's were strange for on his class schedule, as the day started later than most of the other days. Tuesday and Wednesday stood apart as oddballs where instead of starting at eight in the morning they began at ten. This weird schedule stemmed from the bane of a consistent sleeping plan, Astrology. The session began at ten at night for the first year Slytherins and continued till midnight when the fresh NEWT students took it according to a passing sixth year student. Despite the interminable day. However, Harry, already up and ready at five in the morning and dressed and prepared by six, the conditioning from his earlier lifestyle hard to break, was used to long days.

Harry walked in his isolation, the dank and cold halls of the dungeons looming around, moisture congregating along and smelling of an unseen mold. Despite the heavy traffic present on his path, many of the rooms on the journey from his common room to the Great Hall were unkempt and unsanitary. After taking the final stair to the Entry Hall he saw a plethora of older students chatting with members of opposite houses, embracing each other and talking in hushed tones. The room felt like an important political ball, with less formal attire, with many of the group dancing around in strange courtship dances, full of blushing and teasing. He heard many mentions of Hogsmeade, and many more answers to said question, not all closing in smiles, most concluding with held back tears.

Another spectral being floated through the room, this one much less frightening than the Barron. It was a man wearing a robe that looked suited for a monk, being large in stature. He seemed to be a holy man, with a cross proudly displayed upon his chest. This was strange. What he had gathered from how the Dursleys had described the church, they despised magic and saw it as a path to hell. To make matters stranger, if a religious man was a ghost, did that mean that the Christian God was, in fact, the true God?

No one else in the hall seemed to regard the spirit, but his curiosity overcame Harry, never mind how the reminder of the sun had always warned of using cation in situations such as these. He approached the large spirit, who was examining the children like Harry before. As the boy came closer, an odd event began originating. The grey's that formed his coloring scheme separated, developing into more diverse hues. His flesh gained color in the same fashion. Startled the dead monk peered around the chamber with concern, and some fear. Then he gazed at Harry. His eyes swelled and his expression became engulfed with hysteria. He gawked at Harry unable to comprehend what he saw; a stare Harry wore looking at Vernon in his rage. The hall around the pair proceeded as normal and Harry maintained his march forward. Suddenly, one child under the monk moved, when passing under the robe it shifted with the brush, the boy swiped at his head, as if scratching an itch. The monk turned to flee, hysteria in his face, though his voice not producing a sound. His flight through the wall was blocked, bouncing from the surface, his fear magnifying at that action until, he retreated up the main staircase into the deeper part of the castle.

In the Hall no one acted as anything occurred, a glance about showed him that no one noticed the bizarre encounter.

Harry shook off the unusual happening of the last few minutes, eager to eat for the day, the opportunity of receiving food a recent one, and his appetite grew immensely since his days of care in the medical center. The Great Hall's doors were wide open, extensive enough to fit an elephant through with room to spare and entered the glorious room. The unmasked sky above appeared a slight overcast with the sun just beginning to ascend. He turned left, away from the empty Gryffindor table, before the rambunctious Hufflepuff table abundant with joy and laughs, past the Ravenclaw table full of warm smiles and to his table, the table of his house.

It was virtually barren, with only a few solitary members sitting around. From the modest fragment of meals he attended, he made some observations about behavior at this table. First, the more prominent people perched near the end of the hall, as if saying they are proximate to the educators. The current head boy was a Slytherin, and his fellow prefect sat straight across from him at every meal they attended.

Harry remained at the edge of the table, as near the entryway as possible, back to the entryway.

He loaded his plate with a mixture of eggs, potatoes, and pastries in disinterest, still in disbelief that he could eat food with others, that he didn't even need to prepare it himself. He sat, crunching away at the foods, going so far as grabbing a sausage link. While he ate the room trickled and filled with members of various houses, the Gryffindor's finally entering. A pair of students who also entered did not escape his notice, despite facing away he knew the voices, or voice, as Hestia's warm laugh saturated the hall. The twins looked just as they had the preceding day, a regal set, with the tender smile of Hestia and the serious look of Flora. That was until Hestia saw him staring. Her grin dipped, Harry turned from the two students. If he continued to watch her beam drop, he would cry there in the hall. That is something that no one wanted. When the twins sat Harry technicality he was sitting next to Hestia, though that was only because of the lack of other first years to fit the space between them.

He finished his food without a word, leaving the magnificent room and walking to the stairs to escape to the library for a few hours. The steps of the Grand Staircase presented him with the path to the library. A true wonder to behold, spanning an entire tower from the ground floor to the carapace, rumor said the home of Hogwarts's books to be even larger, from conversations he had overheard a restricted section existed below his feet extending beyond the catacombs of the ancient wizards buried beneath Hogwarts, deeper than even the Black Lake's lowest point, full of knowledge that students never should see, or perhaps even the living.

Harry was content to the first floor, passing Madam Pince, a stern-looking woman who was always engorging herself on a book. While exploring the maze of paper and binding Harry overheard a student say she was attempting to read the library's full roster, a comment which caused Harry to scoff. A hundred lifetimes would pass before the books were all studied. He browsed the texts, skimming his fingers along the spines, wandering through sections on Transfiguration, Charms, The Dark Arts, Herbology, and endless more. The tomes of the library held more topics within then the Vatican had works. It always saddened Harry that he found nothing similar to his grimoire, never feeling a spark to read, never sensing the connection. Working through the archives he picked a work that shared a title with one referenced in his required Transfiguration text, the grabbed book being about theory, and cracked the volume at one of the many tables scattered about the chamber.

Like every other book he had read, it spoke of vague concepts such as willpower and concentration. It made equations with no basis, no derivations, as if people just made the stuff up to explain how the magic worked rather than by finding the basic rules of magic and building upon them. In terms of Chemistry it reminded him of living only in the macro-world, never falling into the micro. This lead Harry down a rabbit hole of going to reference after reference to find where the first equation of the book had come from, he was on his 4th work when he noticed the time, having only fifteen minutes to get to his first course, The Preservation against the Darker Aspects of Magic. After hefting the book's back, he took off in a run, hoping not to arrive at his first class on magic late.

* * *

The Four of Cups.

He was not late. Harry had arrived just before the clock hit ten, taking a seat in the back of the room, the odd number of students making it, so he was alone in his spot. Not that this was new. The class flooded his eyes with a sea of green and silver and yellow and black. From a side door the professor appeared. He was easily recognizable to the boy. He was a youthful man with hazel eyes clad in a purple turban. Wearing a tight smile across his face and a strange-looking tome in his off-hand, a strange symbol etched on the cover unknown to Harry, placing it on his desk he leaned against it to look around the room, weighing the group, after the impromptu staring session he pulled out a clipboard.

"Welcome to your first day of classes in your first class ever at Hogwarts," He looked around the room wistfully, "I remember my first day, I was a Ravenclaw myself, you know, so you will only gain the best tutelage on this subject." A few of the students gave loud laughs at this, that list included most of his fellow housemates, only he and Moon absent from the jest, "Now, I will teach you," he read from his sheet of paper, "Preservation against the Darker Aspects of Magic, what a mouthful," he cracked a full grin, "in my time we just called it Defense Against the Dark Arts, much shorter." He joked again to the glee of the group. "Now, we must take role-call, so we make sure we have no lost lambs."

The professor sounded off names in alphabetical order, sounds of here peppered around the room. Then he asked for Harry. He replied with a horse here; the noise reverberating ever so slightly in the quiet room. To that, much of the class turned around to bore at him, the Slytherins with contempt and the Hufflepuffs with fear, the room whispered to each other as Harry sank into his seat, wishing everyone would stop. The professor granted his wish as he continued role, giving the children something else to focus on, the brief attention spans not allowing them to continue watching him as a show. Harry was already near tears. Why was he treated like this? Why was he alone? What had he done wrong?

The professor finished his class role-call, placing down the clipboard and pulling out his wand. With a whisper, he pulled a wheeled chalkboard to his person without moving an inch. When he wrote on the board, the whole assembly groaned, all because of a single word, Syllabus.

What followed comprised a one-hour seminar devoted to discussing what topics his class covered, focusing primarily on the principles of dark magic and its combatants and dark creatures. He also discussed how they would do theory most often all year, but, if practical lessons occurred, they happened on Tuesday. They formed double blocks for practicals in all classes, but they would not be having that for a few weeks as a firm basis in charms is needed to go into detail. Meaning the weeks leading up to those days would hold lectures on magical creatures that were considered dark. The entire time splashing in lines that caused a percentage of the group to laugh, bringing cheer to every face at least once, excluding Harry, for nothing could bring him from his current depression. Professor Quirrell let them go after only an hour, saying they needed their first charms class before they could get into most of the subject.

Many students were out the door, but since their next class was after lunch Harry was in no rush, packing his bag with the unused items, careful that he organized it well. He saw a shadow fall onto his desk as the professor stared down on him, a smile that went to his eyes upon his face.

"So, Mister Potter how do you think I did today?" He asked.

"I think you did wonderful, sir," Harry answered not meeting the man's eyes, remembering how last time he got accused of something for it. The fear and anger held within those eyes, which presently held kindness, Harry wished to never meet again, more so knowing this man had defeated vampires. If Gilderoy Lockhart had taught him anything it amounted to we feared vampires for a reason and, more frightening, someone capable of defeating one.

"Is that what you actually think? Or are you just saying that?" His tone was kind and bouncing. He never sounded serious, even when teaching.

"I think you did good professor, you sounded like you knew a lot about this stuff, and you seemed to enjoy it too." Harry blushed as he added, "I think that is very important in a teacher." He remembered Mrs. Carlson and shuddered as if a cool breeze hit.

"You don't think I overdid the jokes?"

"No sir, it looked like everyone liked them lots."

"But not you." Quirrell didn't ask a question.

"I didn't understand them, sir, I don't exactly get all the jokes." He looked at his hands. Twirling his fingers. Harry lied, the joke about how messing about in class would lead to detention until they spouted a beard longer than Headmaster Dumbledore's was funny. However, not enough to break his face.

"You know Mister Potter; I never caught why you were with Professor Sprout that day." He said on a random tangent.

"Oh, she was just helping me shop for school." He replied with an enormous smile. His experience with her was the happiest that he ever had.

"Why didn't your guardians?"

"Oh, umm," he stopped wondering how to explain it, "well, I am an orphan and I lived with my Aunt and Uncle." Calling Vernon and Petunia as such tasted strange, but the best way to escape this conversation, which was increasingly becoming uncomfortable.

"I don't recall James having siblings, I didn't know him well mind you, he was many years above me and in Gryffindor. And Gryffindor's have little time to spear on Ravenclaws," Harry's eyes lit up and his head shot up, searching the eyes of the professor for anything about his father.

"You knew my dad?" His excited voice entered. The professor's face shifted strangely; it looked odd. His face appeared the same but seemed more forced somehow. His voice darkened.

"I did, we can talk about that later. Before that though, remember what I said about my turban young man, now go to lunch, wouldn't want to miss out on eating with your friends." He turned; his voice hard. Harry couldn't tell if tried another joke or if the man didn't know either way, it was cruel, Harry had no friends, he was alone.

* * *

The Four of Cups.

In the Great Hall Harry sat at the end of the table, a full person's length away from his roommate. He added food to his plate when Goyle turned his attention to him.

"Already in trouble on your first day, Potter?" The boy seemed less hard than Harry was accustomed to.

"Oh Greg, what makes you say that?" Draco asked him.

Goyle looked down in slight resignation for what he had done as if he felt bad for his question. "Well, as I was leaving class, I saw Professor Quirrell going up to talk to him."

"Really, wow Potter. I've never known someone to get kicked from class for being a squib in the first class. Especially when they used no magic ." This time Nott spoke. "Maybe he smelt the dirt."

Harry never replied to them, picking over his food, his appetite gone.

"What, did the muggles never teach you to speak?" Interjecting was a female voice, Parkinson. "Whatever, anyway Draco, what did you think of that muggle lovers' class?"

People trickled into the Great Hall again, having had their classes released. The rest of the first years entered smiling and laughing. He picked at his food, disappointed in himself for not eating it but not being able to find the will.

"He seems to know what he is doing, so the headmaster has that going for him, apparently, they still haven't found Professor Mulgrave and don't even know where to begin their search."

"Professor Dumbledore is a great wizard," Lily Moon chastised the boy, "I never understood why you always see it fit to dishonor him."

"Politics," Blaise responded with a single word, looking uncomfortable. Lily stared, her face blank.

Daphne Greengrass expanded upon the statement since Blaise was acting as if his answer was enough of an explanation. "Lucius Malfoy is one of the main figureheads of the conservative party. Whereas Dumbledore is the driving force behind much of the liberal agendas. This is despite his claim that he is nonpolitical." Her voice was practiced, she constructed each syllable to sound perfect.

"It doesn't help that Professor Dumbledore has a tonne of political weight, the love of the people, and the savvy to block nearly every proposition that Mr. Malfoy has put up this last year." Tracey Davis, a brunette with curly hair and a plain face. He noticed a look of disgust shot at her by Nott and Crabbe. The looks lasted till a hard glare from the piercing blue eyes of Greengrass made them yield.

"Yes, yes," Draco said, his ability to control any surrounding crowd was a wonder. When he spoke, people listened. His voice was smooth when he wanted it, and captivated those nearby, "Professor Dumbledore is very good at all of his jobs, I swear the man has rediscovered how to build a Simulacrum somehow."

From the table behind a voice cut in, Li if he remembered correctly. Her voice had a strange accent attached to it. Turning to look at her she fashioned as one of, if not the best-dressed person in the room, with a subtle golden necklace draping to her breast marked with an odd-looking stone, a regal-looking beret adorned in her soft straight black hair. Her apparel only amplified that which was natural to her, she appeared Chinese with cunning brown eyes, "At home, they say the Langgan Emperor has as many Simulacrums as countries in the world, maybe Headmaster won it from him in ten-pin bowling." She said chuckling, a thin accent veiled in practiced English.

"And over here we say the Bloody Immortal is a liar who plays his people like puppets," Nott cut in, a sneer on his face, venom in his tone. Li's face turned to a hideous frown, baring her teeth; she went for her wand. That was until one senior of the table walked past them, ready to leave the hall and overhearing the conversation. The head boy.

He glared at the boy, "That was not polite, definitely not befitting of a future seat holder to have such culturally insensitive views." His voice was more practiced than even Draco's, soft yet projecting power. He was a cool boy with long black hair with a slight wave to it, a black so dark he had only seen once in hair before, his own. His eyes were a gray haze and carried around authority. He was tall and regal, his posture perfect and his grin bright, though now, where the smile normally sat arose a sinister and fierce frown with a set of matching grey orbs.

"I am sorry Cepheus." Nott bowed his head in either embarrassment or shame with a mixture of fear.

"We are in public, Nott." He spat at the boy.

"Sorry Mr. Black."

"Very good," He turned to Li and gave a half-bow, a large degree of respect for his position, "Sorry Miss Li for the slight against your family, please remember that his views are not shared by the whole of Slytherin who hopes for wonderful relations with the Langgan Emperor moving forward." The regal boy's voice was well pronounced and authoritative, despite him apologizing he controlled the conversation. His face wore a smile and held a seductive power.

The girl of his attention had a flood of color to her face, "It's alright Mr. Black, I would never hold the actions of one against the majority." She turned away with a shy blush.

"Thank you." He bowed again and took to leaving the hall only to stop short next to Harry.

"Harry, it is nice to finally meet you, I had wished to see you at the Black Family Christmas at least once, not only are you the future head of the family, but I am told by Regulus how Dorea would be oh so disappointed that you never showed." He gave a quick turn and left the hall, leaving a baffled Harry in his wake. Harry looked around for a safety line but saw that their section of the hall had become a telly with a splendid football match on the focus of even the teacher's table on the spot. He didn't understand why Black told him about the Black Family Christmas. And how was he the head? He caught the eye of Malfoy, who had a strange appearance, a balance of hate and longing.

Harry fled the hall.

* * *

The Four of Cups.

The halls of Hogwarts were stunning. Layers of bricks that hummed with power constructed the walls, his favorite being the ones with alluring arch ceilings. After a quick detour to grab Alastair, Harry roamed into the castle proper. His next class was Transfiguration with the stern Professor McGonagall on the first level of the building. He had long since abandoned that floor though, instead opting to follow the twist and turns of the third story, an empty place as most were feasting. As he explored, he found many interesting things, classrooms with wonderful odds and ends still within, paintings of important people from before Merlin, even a haunted broom cupboard which, as he walked past, moaned.

Though as he stalked the halls, he noticed he was being stalked as well.

At first, it was minor things, the sound of faint laughter adding to his footsteps, the racket of clattering as objects behind him fell, the soft ring of bells, the noise of wisping movement, always behind him. It was only as a ball-shaped object connected with his face he knew for certain someone pursued him.

_"I got the rotter_  
_I snagged me a Potter_  
_I caught him dead_  
_Be better in bed"_

A singing voice, and not pleasurable to listen to, sounded around him as the ball exploded, releasing a foul stench. Harry chocked as his eyes burned, closing them and laying on the floor in the fetal position.

_"Look at him lie_  
_Smells like a sty_  
_His stink alone_  
_A reason for no home"_

Harry tried to call out for help or for it to stop. It didn't matter, no words could escape.

_"The lonely bolt_  
_Not cut for holt_  
_The meanie boy_  
_Has no toys_

_But Peeves knows_  
_Just like your toes_  
_Your reigns running amuck_  
_Just like four cups"_

Harry forced his eyes open, red and crying; his assailant spoke of The Four of Cups, it knew something. He saw another aberration. This one was strange, dressed in real clothes with bright colors, like a court jester, bells and all. His eyes grilled Harry, the orange glow unnatural in every sense, the dead floating around was one thing, Harry's senses told him this was something worse.

_"He reads and reads_  
_Yet he bleeds and bleeds_  
_The throne she sat_  
_Bores the fool's hat_

_Without the sun_  
_You'll burn as a bun_  
_Without clear mind_  
_In the tower, you'll reside_

_You'll pick the sword_  
_Or be embered_  
_Walk with thirteen _  
_Or join it in between_

_I got the rotter_  
_I snagged me a Potter_  
_I caught him dead_  
_Be better in bed"_

The little man broke away, leaving a sobbing, confused, and coughing boy alone on the third floor.

* * *

The Four of Cups.

Harry stumbled into the Transfiguration room, sweating, stinking, and crying. Professor McGonagall was marking attendance when he arrived in the classroom. She stared at him as if he was a specter of the past, an echo of a time lost. It distracted her until the gagging started. Near the boy children covered their exposed noses with the flaps of their robes, matching tears on their faces as the ones on Harry. His hands positioned on his knees and his breathing heaved, each breath brought with it a more sickening smell.

"Mr. Potter, I hope you have an excellent reason for being late?"

"No ma'am, sorry ma'am" Harry let out, taking the furthest seat in the class, hoping to spare his fellow students from the terrible odor, it spared no member of the room, snake and eagle alike glared. The stench continued its deadly pursuit to claim the whole classroom as row after row of students fell to its unnatural stink.

"How did you get a dungbomb Potter? It's the first day of class," Zabini yelled over the room in amazement, coughing the entire time. The professor gazed in his direction, but her eyes never saw him. Her expression became pensive as she leaned over her desk.

"He's a Potter since when has time ever stopped them?" She questioned herself as the class gaped at her. Her mind suddenly catching up to the present she bore into the late child, "I should hope I will not find them in my office, or Slytherin should lose so many points a decade from now they still will be negative." Despite the harsh words, her voice had a bounce of joy new to the group. Harry went to defend himself but found himself cut off by the professor returning to roll. By the time her introductory seminar was complete, Harry no longer stank of a sewer. The class finished, and the two groups made their way to charms.

Harry once again sat alone as the sprite professor explained charms, how it comprised the most diverse subjects and had the most branches. It was entertaining to watch the small man hop around the class as he lectured, using his wand to show the many tasks that could be accomplished, if only one knew the proper words and motions. He even mentioned how next class they would try a spell, Lumos, the same one that had stalled Harry the past morning.

After his classes, Harry stuck near his fellow student, or as near as they let him, praying to avoid the monster of Peeves again.

* * *

The Four of Cups.

The following dinner was less festive than the former two. Many students intermingled throughout the Great Hall, talking with friends both old and new. Joyous laughter and bitter complaining sounded all around as old and young students discussed the first day of classes. His table still sat segregated, with Harry alone. He skimmed his copy of Carpe Diem Collective while devouring his food, his hunger ever-growing in his new setting, despite his turning stomached unrelated to his heath. Cornelius Fudge had bungled a trade treaty with the Republic of Egypt, under the rule of 'king' Hamed Al Sadat, which was the foremost source of many magical ingredients, the implications of the loss unknown, though the main ingredient in wolfsbane will now skyrocket. In other news, a horrible storm started off the coast of Taiwan, in the Philippine Sea. Eyewitnesses said it was the worst they had ever seen, and a crackpot saw a tentacle monster rising from the depths. France would host next year's Quidditch World Cup.

The time waiting for Astronomy had Harry follow his classmates, the hours stretched thin in his lonesome walk. The training provided by his former guardians was helpful for the task. Eventually the sun set, and the group moved to the joint astronomy class. The entire class of first years arrived at the seventh floor of the East Tower, referred to as the Astronomy Tower, and looked upon the landscape branching out. To the south the Black Lake loomed eerie and dangerous, east held the sprawling township of Hogsmeade, a town so large the horizon appeared before its edge, to the north rolling shadow's of hills glistened in the starlight, to the west was the Forbidden Forest. The expansive forest sucked the light from the stars overhead, holding nothing but a rustling mass of shadow, banked on the sea of trees stood a single brown hut, a small abode with puffs of smoke spewing from a stone chimney. Above them the sky shone in a wondrous beauty unknown to Harry, the universe towering above Harry had never been so clear and busy. The streets of London held no equal to how cramped they were until Harry saw the sky for the first time, bundles of clouds moved in front of the peppered starfield. The sun's above each housing planets of their own were uncountable, the insignificance of his life was on display when compared to everything.

"Welcome students to your first Astronomy lesson." A quiet voice echoed over the silent chamber. The tribulation of transition from gawking at the ocean on high to watching his profession weighed on Harry. The professor introduced herself as Sinistra. She was a short woman with an appearance freckled mirroring the sky. Her wavy hair hung under her little hat full of shining constellations. The class was not the total length of the normal session, students practicing how to put their telescopes together being the only task. The sharp professor flew around the room to help Harry's struggling peers, her grace unmatched by most dancers. When Harry achieved his construction, he peered through and made up stories for the shapes he found, tales of friends coming for him, and he located his lighting bolt in the west. Once the entire class finished and packed, they headed to bed, a majority through shut eyes.

Another night without conversation had Harry quickly sleeping.

In his dreams, he saw the horrible sky.

In his dreams, he screamed.

The Four of Cups.


	9. Chapter 8: The Four of Cups III

**Chapter 8: The Four of Cups III**

**AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think! I realize we are past 48 thousand words and not much has happened yet, it will. I need to develop and give motive to characters, after the first week of school we can time jump to other major events, the first year of the story will not have much for adventure, that will enter in the later books in a better-established world. I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. Snape has such a good monologue I kept most of it, as well as the questions. I know this is in every fic, but it is too good to pass up.**

**This was originally two chapters but the second would have only been a few thousand words, and I couldn't do that. **

**I have modified flying to include more topics, as wizard transportation, as a whole, would be more beneficial than only teaching students to fly. **

**Minor trigger warning for bad thoughts.**

**Sorry for this but I have gotten no writing done these last few days. It might be a while after this one. Sorry!**

* * *

The Four of Cups.

Harry awoke in a cool sweat the following morning, his poster bed curtains crushing him. The expansive universe around him, the emptiness of it all, the indifferent host singing horrible songs. Replacing the song was the rumble of his roommate, a far cry from the rumbles of insanity of the night last. After a long shower he traversed to breakfast, the confining walls crushing him the entire walk. The crisp morning sun was painting the chamber with vibrant hues as Harry entered the Great Hall. His first class wasn't until 10 and it was with Professor Flitwick. Today was the Lumos charm. After his quick breakfast Harry moved to the Library again, following a pair of Ravenclaws, watching for yesterday's demon.

The hours passed as he read more charms theory, his attempts at casting Lumos with the tips offered in the text failing him every time. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't change his "willpower" enough to fix the spell. Once he even had the sensation of liquid fire flowing through him causing him to cry out in pain, earning a warning from the stern warden.

When he arrived in the classroom, the Hufflepuff party had already entered. Harry took a seat near the front of the room next to the Prewitt boy who didn't return Harry's greeting, too enamored with Justin's description of a football match to care. Instead, Harry took out his text and reread the section on Lumos for the 100th time. The tiny professor arrived in tandem with the Slytherins, discussing a spell with Parkinson, a glowing smile on his face.

Once the Slytherins settled in, he began explaining the theory of the Lumos spell. The discussion explained how each student needed to "pull" the magic and concentrate on the words and effect. With a single point of the wand, a glow should appear on the tip.

He prompted the group to try the feat. Which resulted in a class full of light glows from everyone's wand. Everyone but Harry. The fire flowed through him when he tried, making him fall to his chair. Flitwick was upon him in a second. After assuring that Harry was all right, he congratulated the section on the job well done and dismissed them for an early lunch, leaving Harry alone.

"Are you certain you are all right, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, professor." Harry averted his eyes.

"What happened to you Harry?" Harry didn't know how to respond. "What did you feel when you attempted the spell?"

"When I try to cast the spell, pain erupts everywhere. It travels through me like a raging inferno, burning me completely." Harry hid his eyes so the professor couldn't watch the tears fall. The educator gave a solemn smile, an attempt to console him.

"Do you know why, Harry?" Flitwick's voice cracked.

"I had an accident before school, the Doctor told me I may struggle to cast spells, though he never said it would hurt."

"What was the accident, Harry?" His tone was dripping with concern.

"The doctor called it Apparition." His professor seemed surprised, "But he never said that it would hurt."

The teacher paused, then responded, "I will talk to Professor Dumbledore about this. Until then, you may not cast spells, in or out of class, understood?" Harry nodded, "Good. Head to lunch, why don't you." With a forced smile, Flitwick sent him on his way. Harry walked to the Great Hall with the echoes of his steps trailing and leading him.

* * *

The Four of Cups.

Wednesday only had two classes; Charms and Transportation, the gap between being three hours. Harry huddled in the library for most of the time between, searching for an answer to his magical problems, with little hope. The only book he found referencing early apparition was a heavily worded text meant for advance medical study. When it was half-past one, he sulked to his last period of the day.

The entire class was on the training range, a brief walk from the field, waiting for Professor Hooch to show. She entered the classroom by flying on a beautiful broom, one which could not sweep, and landed in the center of the group. She calculated every step and swiftly maneuvered herself around the class, staring each student down with her piercing yellow eyes as her sharp face cut through the air like butter, dropping a broom at the foot of every student.

"Welcome to your first lesson in Transportation. My name is Professor Hooch, and I will be your instructor throughout the year. We will cover brooms than Floo and end lectures on Portkeys and Apparition, Portkeys which should not be used until your magic maturity and Apparition even after that." Her eyes lingered on Harry longer than he wished, "Now, onto brooms. They connect to your magic when you call the keyword. We set all Hogwarts brooms to 'Up,' then will move as instructed. You want forward. Say so. You want to stop. Say so. You want to turn. Say so. You must learn to control it, and when it can work. These brooms function as the individual enchantment, no two are alike. Now let us first connect with our brooms, everyone up."

The yells of up sounded throughout the yard. Malfoy grinned as his broom rocketed into his hand. The rude child from the train did it just as smug and fast. Zabini followed soon after, with some Hufflepuffs, including Ernie and Justin. Harry's broom didn't want to listen. He feared heights, running from his cousin made him scale more than he cared, and fall. When he broke his leg once he never attempted it again, for his uncle hurt far worse than the drop. The same one his uncle re-injured later in life. He tried to search for the brooms magic, but so much energy being thrown around the courtyard that he couldn't find it until only he and Neville remained. He tried pushing his magic towards the broom had it connect to him. In his hand the broom felt warm. The craftsmanship on it was delicate, a smooth finish on the shaft to an arced head. The bristles appeared of different wood, thin and tightly bound to a fine stop. Magic flowed like his wand, but a symbiotic relationship, unlike normal spell casting. The broom was nearer his cards than the spells of this world. It no longer scared him as before, being airborne. The broom would not let him break a leg.

Professor Hooch had everyone mount, addressing each grip accordingly. Once she was satisfied, she made groups of five fly for a bit, discussing technique below, Harry noticed how she had the people with the first responses go first, then trailed down, except for him. Harry joined the fourth group for some strange reason, filled with many Hufflepuffs. Once in the air, Harry forgot himself. The wind curled around him as he soured the skies. He closed his eyes as his mount carried him on the wings of a breeze, lazily curving along. He was not a failure at school anymore; he was not a friendless weirdo; he was not a slave to horrible guardians; he was free; he was at peace. The whistle from the teacher's wand appeared. All too soon as he descended. He hopped off the broom with a surprising level of grace until his leg gave out, and he fell to the ground, reality coming with it as the students took to pointing and laughing. He didn't care about anything they said anymore; he tasted freedom and wanted more.

* * *

The Four of Cups.

The last team of five included Neville, the only boy to struggle as much as Harry had, Greengrass, Moon, and two Ravenclaws. They took to the sky similarly to how the groups before them had until the boy with a toad aggressively moved above them. He shouted his commands of "down" and "right" as he dodged obstacles, his corrections leading him into more situations. The professor had her wand out, firing spells at the walls and earth while running in pursuit. He avoided the objects of her spells so well that he careened up from a wall she had cast a spell on and into the machicolations of the tower above, the audible snap of his arm and broom lingering in the open yard as he free-fell into the ground, which softly caressed him into a stopped motion. For all the pain he was in, he never cried out, but tears streamed down his face. Professor Hooch sprinted faster than any human Harry had ever seen, and he watched the Olympics, to the prone boy. She whispered to him until helping him stand. Justin clapped, as did other students until the quiet group around them stalled their efforts. The glance Hooch gave Justin caused him to smile.

"I need to take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing, the storage area for the brooms are over there," she pointed to an unassuming shack a long walk away, "each broom has a number, put it in that spot." She started away until she stopped turning around, "Oh, If I catch any of you flying, I will have you at least suspended, but I will push for expulsion."

Once she left from view Harry took off to the shed, until Malfoy's voice recoiled from the walls. "Did you see that squib? He could barely fly." Malfoy bent over and grabbed a small glass orb from the ground, a light red smoke formed within, "And he has a Remembrall too, what is this the 1400s. No one uses these anymore, any wizard worth their magic would be too self-respecting to."

"You give that back Malfoy." A lovely Indian girl from Gryffindor shouted at him. Her twin moving to her side in a silent endorsement.

"And why should I Patil, I don't answer to you?" He gave her a cruel grin.

"Don't talk to her like that," The rude redhead burst into the confrontation stepping in front of the girls, "Give it back it's Neville's."

"Ya Weasley, what are you gonna do, take it?"

"I will." His face was as red as his hair, full of fury.

"How about this, who catches it, gets it?"

"You're on."

Cries surrounded Harry, some supporting Malfoy, others for Ron. The largest camp was abundant with shouts of, "It's Neville's," and "You have no right," Harry also heard the bucktooth girl cut in, not as loud as the mob.

"You'll both be expelled." Her face showed no anger at the idea.

They passed the Remembrall to Nott as the fliers took to their brooms. Nott gave it a heave as the sphere took to the sky. Once it reached the apex, the two tore to the ball, the pair staying alongside the ground. The orb plummeted and cracked on impact as neither flier flew near it. That is the scene professor McGonagall ran into.

* * *

The Four of Cups.

Two weeks. They suspended the boys for two weeks. At dinner Hooch gave Professor Dumbledore a sinister stare as he stared with little emotion back. The punishment for the rule-breaking was immense, Slytherin and Gryffindor both reduced by fifty points with an added twenty from Slytherin for Nott's part. He still sat at the table, placed further than Harry, as Blaise kicked him from his primary spot with the help of the second years. He was not let off by any Slytherin student as their time glass stood at three points, crippling them for the entire race, a full 120 away from the first place Ravenclaws.

Weasley and Malfoy were currently riding the Hogwarts Express home, which surprising to Harry, ran year-round. He learned that it was a common way for people from Hogsmeade to travel to London and most of the goods transferred moved by the express.

After his meal finished, the evening post arrived. As Carpe Diem Collective landed in front of Harry, a small letter peaked from behind its pages. The message grabbed his attention, more than the wild photo of the storm from yesterday on the cover. 'To Mister Harry J. Potter,' an elegant swirling script scrawled on the envelope. He broke the seal with an unused knife, carving his finger through it and pulling out the short writing.

_Dear Mister Harry James Potter,_

_It is I, your Headmaster. It has come to my attention that your situation I originally thought I understood is far worse than believed. If you could bother to wait for me, I would like to talk with you after dinner tonight. Please give me a wave if that works._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus_

_P.S. I could have written my title's but that would be longer than the letter itself, much like this postscript. Should I rewrite it? No, it's fine. Anyway, answer when you can._

Harry read and reread the note multiple times before finally looking up at his bizarre Headmaster. They met eyes as the venereal man smiled at him. Harry gave a wave, causing the man's smile to grow even more. Harry looked forward to dinner being done.

* * *

The Four of Cups.

Time crawled as Harry waited for Headmaster Dumbledore to escort him to his office. He would glance at the professor and his coworkers, laughing and joy throughout the table, except for the upset Hooch, but even she, when she believed the wizened old man was not watching her, cracked a smile at his antics. The tables filled and emptied multiple times before a countable number of students remained, and fewer professors. Despite watching the head table like a hawk, the old professor snuck upon him, a wide smile laden on his wrinkled face.

"Very well, Harry, shall we?"

Harry nodded and stood, hoping he was acting appropriately and walked in step with the professor. Out in the Entry Hall, students' eyes followed the oldest and youngest inhabitants of the school, stepping in stride. When the pair left the sight of the collection, none following, the professor's smile slumped as did his shoulders. They had a third member join their party, silence. Professor Dumbledore escorted Harry to his office, talking the wide-eyed boy through secret tunnels to a long corridor. From the distance to the ground seen by the window, they were on the second level of the school. Braziers lit the narrow strip leading only to a gargoyle, a fearsome depiction of a dragon. The four-legged beast was standing on its hind legs, poised to strike, its serpentine tail wrapped around the base. The skinny beast head leered at the pair as if it followed them. It spoke.

"Password." The mouth on the construct moved since it lacked vocal cords why did it have to?

"Fun Dip." The Headmaster was gleeful in his answer, a hint of drool appearing on his face.

"You may pass." The giant wings on the beast folded back as if to take flight, but they stayed back, revealing a secret passage on the constructs right.

"Let's go, Harry." He gave him a gentle pat on the back and walked forward, past the monster. Harry followed, studying the creature the entire way, an action replicated by the dragon. A modest stairwell brought them to a huge circular room, bookshelves on the walls. An ornate desk sat before an exceptionally crafted mezzanine, covering half of the room, and a small door was to his left. The shelves housed more than books, for everyone matched with a small knickknack, wheezing and whistling. The Headmaster took his seat, looking tired, as a large red bird swooped to him, landing before him. Headmaster Dumbledore's smile split his face as he presented a wrapped sweet to the fledgling who graciously took it and waddled to the edge of the desk before hopping to the floor and under the balcony. "Take a seat my boy." He pointed to a chair opposite him which Harry took. "Sorry Fawkes couldn't stay longer; it was his burning day recently, and he is shy because of it."

"He was quite handsome," realizing he forgot his manners he corrected himself, "sir."

"That's what I tell him, but no, I am lying to him, of course." He said with a good-natured chuckle. A laugh that soon ended, leaving a pressing atmosphere in the room. Tears fell from the elder's eyes.

"Are you all right, sir?" Harry asked, leaning in.

"Sorry my boy, I am, old age seems to do this from time to time." He wiped his face of the streams, but they filled as fast as his wipes. "I am very sorry, you do not understand how sorry I am." Harry folded his hand in his lap, quizzically staring ahead, unsure how to go forward. A melodic sound resonated through the corridor, bright, full of love. The tears stemmed as Harry swelled with joy. He never knew he could feel. Free from the weight of rejection, bringing the first smile since flying the broom knit along his face. The tune played and played as the gorgeous bird reappeared, coming to the Headmaster's aid.

"I am the reason you lived with the Dursleys." His professor stated once the song ended, the fowl rubbing his arm with reassurance. Dumbledore's face was as hard as the dragon guarding his office. "I reached out to Amelia and found what you went through growing up, you do not understand how sorry I am."

"It's all right professor, they weren't that bad to grow up with. I had a roof, I had clothes, a bed, and food. What else should be expected from an unwanted child?"

The professor's eyes watered again. A trill from the red calmed him. "Harry, what happened to you was not normal. Do you understand that?" Harry shrugged. "You lived in a cupboard, that is not normal. Your uncle testified to beating you regularly. That is not normal. Cooking at 5 is not normal. No visits to an eye doctor with your vision deficiencies are horrible. They abused you, Harry, and it's my fault." Harry blankly stared into the deep sapphire orbs which peered back, an irritation fluttering on his brow. As he reached with his mind nothing answered.

"It's not your fault, professor."

"How is it not my fault?"

"Did you put me in a cupboard?"

"I might as well have."

Harry paused for a moment. "Did you intend to have me in a cupboard?"

The white brows shot up, "Of course not."

"What were your intentions?"

"To give you a home." The old man appeared frailer than before, a husk, as his shoulders sapped, and he fell back into his chair. "I wanted you to have a good and happy childhood."

"Then thank you sir, for trying." The Headmaster's face changed. A puzzled expression masking the earlier despair. "Madam Bones told me I would have to meet with her this year to find a different home." He stopped as the headmaster leaned forward. "I would like it instead if you could help. I like you more than her, she scares me." A laugh flew from the old man's mouth, not reaching his eyes.

"Are you sure, Harry? Last time didn't end well."

"I trust you, sir. I think you are a kind person." The sapphires glittered as if the sun peered over them.

"Thank you, Harry. Thank you."

Harry smiled back. "What else did you hope to talk about."

"Well, throughout the upcoming weeks you will need to do..."

The pair talked the rest of the night, past curfew, and till the next day. It started with restrictions on spell casting. They would attempt magic again when October ended. For his safety, no spells until that point. Over time, the conversation developed into one about Harry's parents. The old man was a collection of interactions his parents partook in, stories of their friend and their interplay. His father, a genius on in a million talent at transfiguration (like Professor Dumbledore), and his mother who would charm people with or without a wand. The antics, the pranks, the love they had, it made the two cry more than either would admit.

* * *

The Four of Cups.

As Harry walked to Herbology, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the entire way holding back a yawn. Professor sprout was waiting in the Herbology Courtyard to give a quick introductory lecture to the Gryffindors and Slytherins. They smiled at each other, and Harry gave a wave. The one-hour class that followed discussed rules when in the greenhouse and showed the students the lecture hall that would normally hold Thursday's lessons.

After that was History.

History was a strange subject, taught by a ghost. Once the collective first year group was seated, the opaque professor entered the room through the ceiling. He gave Harry a shocked expression before starting role. A task which took entirely too long. The two-hour lecture was interesting, after the brief syllabus with Professor Binns discussing the origins of magic. They discussed when man first harnessed its alley, the spells, and the written language. Many members of the room fell asleep, a fact that the dead professor surely noted.

After the lesson Harry sat back and witnessed the professor speak to a blank chair behind his desk, focusing intensely on the spot a shimmer of refraction brushed his eye. After exiting to the hallway Harry hid behind a suit of armor and waited. The next time slot was lunch. He hid until a tall boy wearing Ravenclaw robes rushed from the classroom and down the hall. With a turn Harry attempted walking the other way but encountered the glasses-wearing ghost.

"So, Mr. Potter, you have discovered my little secret?" The cool breath of the spirit washing over his face.

"Teachers Assistant?"

"Yes, that would be Cody Edwards, I hope you don't spread this information."

"Of course not, sir,"

"Good. Now, what is it about you that makes me feel... Drawn." The specter came closer, brushing its frozen hand against Harry's cheek. It held with wide eyes, sapping the strength from Harry who fell to his knees. The professor retreated. "Sorry Mr. Potter, I will look into this, phenomenon, please be careful." He traversed through the ceiling, leaving Harry on the floor, panting, shivering, and terrified.

* * *

The Four of Cups.

It was after lunch and Astrology with the Eagles that they had another transportation class. Hooch came out with her nonexistent hair flowing in the air with brooms again. Today they would play a game of American origin, which Hooch swears by, called red light, green light. The concept was simple, Professor Hooch would stand on one side of the yard and say green light, giving all access to move. When she called red, everyone stopped. A person won the game if they made it to the professor.

Harry lethargically soured to win the first round, and the second, and the third. Time after time he reached the professor, playing alone by the end in most cases. The shocked face of the professor on the last match was enough to make him laugh through the smile he wore from the moment he hit the air.

Harry yearned for the next Wednesday to come so he could fly again through all of his dinner and on his lone track to bed, earlier than normal, as he and Alastair lay in the silence of a Crabbeless room. He dreamt of falling through the endless sky mounted atop a broom souring through white wisp and blue sea.

The Four of Cups.

Herbology was fun. The class, Friday morning, performed a practical lesson in Greenhouse One. Clad in an apron and tough dragonhide gloves which Lisa Turban, his mousy partner, lectured were wyverns. He dug through the mud to pot the Alchemilla. The task was a seed that would bloom into a large leaf with golden bulbs of use in alchemy involving metal transformation, potions for calming, and medical processes they would discuss in the later years. The work pulled him back to gardening at Privet Drive, the long days in the sun, some of the best hours he had, lounging in the yard with unlimited water and quick snacks from growing flowers. Lisa looked at him with a crushed expression to his joy at working through the dirt, disappearing when they received their evaluation.

The stench of the group followed to Preservation with the Lions. Quirrell was his normal quirky self, asking about Charms and how the class faired. Nott lost more points for the Slytherins by stating that only the squib failed in their class, a nickname which confused Longbottom saying he was not in that class. His fellow Slytherins laughter added another point deduction, losing ten points in a single class.

Lunch did not fare well for the youngest Slytherins. The upper years each making a pass to rant about their displeasure of seeing no growth of the hourglass. They were on their way to becoming the most hated group in the school. On his way out of the hall, Macmillan coughed the word racist under his breath in Harry's direction. Harry ran the entire way to his dorm to shower before Potions, reading in _Magical Drafts and Potions _that extra reactants could have tragic consequences in the art of potion crafting. The result of this detour was his arrival to his first class with his head of the house in the nick of time. Following him through the door was Professor Snape. Harry sat at a workstation with Nott, unable to find an alternative.

* As Snape called role, he lingered on Harry longer than he was comfortable with, weighing him with little regard for time. After calling Zabini, he swept to the front of the gloomy chamber, scanning his audience with blank black eyes. "You are here to learn the subtle science of potion making," his low voice carried through the dungeon. "This year will have very little wand waving causing most of you to believe that this is not magic," he stopped and looked over the red portion of the room with a glare, his voice holding venom. "I don't expect most of you to understand the beauty of a simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins," he looked back to the green side of the room, "bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses..." a fearsome shape formed on his face, his smile not matching his looks, "I can teach you to bottle fame," he peered at a Gryffindor girl, "brew glory," Davis was the subject of his second line, "and even put a stopper in death." His eyes lingered on Harry. The class was waiting in suspense. "Potter." The professor's eyes still pinned on him with an unknown emotion, reaching for it yielded no response, just as with the Headmaster. The baritone was acidic in his delivery.

"Yes, sir."

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Asphodel was in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, _as was wormwood. Wormwood was used in Firewiskey, and asphodel was associated with the dead.

"Don't know?" The smug professor asked.

"Is it a poison liquor?"

"No. Let's try again. Where would I find a bezoar?"

"A what?" He said before he could filter it. Harry slumped into his chair tears threatening to fall. The bushy brunette from the train was attempting to dislodge her arm to the sky. The glimmer in Snape's eyes housed victory.

"Thought you wouldn't need to crack a book before coming to class, well clearly fame isn't everything." Harry retreated further in his chair, confused, the smirking Nott enjoying his front-row seat. "One final question, Potter. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Poison plant, violet, the third page of his Herbology book. "They are the same plant, sir." He looked up at the professor with wet eyes, lips and shoulders shaking.

The professor recoiled, centering himself as he turned back to the front of the class. "That is correct, now sit down Granger before you hurt yourself, five points from Gryffindor for improper behavior in the classroom. Powdered root of asphodel in an infusion of wormwood is the base of Draught of the Living Death, a potent sleeping agent. A bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat and may be used to counter many potions, Greengrass name me a potion that it would not work on."

"The Choker."

"Exactly, and why is that?"

"The Choker uses dragon's blood, sir."

"Very good.," looming around the room he hissed, "why aren't you writing this down." *

The following hour and a half consisting of classroom etiquette and conventional cutting techniques, which they had a paper due on their next lecture on, pulling a groan from the Slytherins who had the class on Monday. Afterward, Harry was among the last to leave. On his exit, the murmur of his professor sounded. "Five points to Slytherin for proper hygiene." Harry whipped his head to meet the Professor's gaze, a connection the professor quickly broke to leer at paper atop his desk.

* * *

The Four of Cups.

Malfoy was the same as always. Even after the two weeks away from school, he was still rude to everyone not in his Slytherin clique. Nott, upon the return of the elegant blonde, was pulled back into the fold, leaving Harry the only lonely Slytherin in his year. The weeks of isolation had no longer bothered him as they once did, retreating inward as he avoided most of the pain. What hurt him was the teasing, the whispers of squib that followed him to every corner of the castle, and the sad looks of his professors when they looked at him during spell lessons. Dumbledore was his saving grace. They met every Friday and talked. The conversations were light and lasted only an hour, but they meant everything to him. The kind man spoke of his parents, answered his inquiries on magic and talked about thing's they each enjoyed doing. Dumbledore was the closest thing he had to a friend. Lisa, his Herbology partner ignored him, Granger almost sat with him in the library until that morning when Weasley returned, the boys from Hufflepuff snubbed him more than his housemates.

His solace, Flying, also ripped away, as the sky was the domain of Malfoy and Weasley who dominated the games they played. Both pushing and shoving at Harry when the distracted professor couldn't see. After the first flying lesson with them back, Harry took to the grounds of Hogwarts crying. He stopped by the lake and watched as the waves broke on the rocky shore, splashing the chilling water. The sun mirrored over the black pool as strange fish eclipsed the surface to snatch enormous insects. If he walked out, as far as possible, would he reach the bottom? Did he float or sink? Did he honestly care either way? A sudden chill overtook him as a cloud passed overhead, blotching out the sun.

"You all right there, Harry?" The rumbling voice of the giant, Hagrid, broke into his thoughts. He looked up at the large being holding in his tears.

"Of course, Hagrid." His voice betrayed his lie. The giant gave him a sympathetic glance and offered Harry to join him in his hut. What could he lose? He followed the sizeable man.

The tiny hut that could be seen from the Astronomy Tower, perched on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, was anything but. It stood taller than some trees with a thatch roof and stone walls. Up three enormous steps put him inside the huge circular house, a warm abode with a roaring fire glowing next to a ginormous table. Banners with dragons and other mythical bodies stretched over the walls, dancing in the light of the flames. Hagrid took a dwarfed chair and set it opposite a patched sofa. "Please sit, do you want any tea?"

"Yes, sir,"

"Sugar, milk?"

"I'm fine, sir."

The man waved him off, "None of that sir nonsense, Hagrid is fine." As he poured two glasses, both in the correctly sized cups and plates, he sat across Harry. Residue was floating in the tea, it had an aroma of raspberry and tasted sweet and bitter, a pleasant combination.

"Ya look lonely, Harry." The giant peered at him with his warm brown eyes.

"I am doing fine, sir."

"You don't need the formalities with me, Harry." Hagrid leaned back and looked through his pitched ceiling, "when I left Hogwarts, I only had a few friends, none of which were human."

He took Harry back from the honest statement. "I also struggled with casting spells." He peered back at Harry holding the same eyes as before, "I am a half-giant, my mom was one of the last in England." Harry didn't flinch at the account; it explained the size. A smile appeared on his furry face, "As giant's have magical resistance, casting through my body is hard. There is more to magic than wands and spells. You can do so much if you try. You are a wonderful kid, Harry, and you will do great things, your parents would be proud of you." The dam collapsed as weeks of tears broke, restrained sadness dropped as the tears flowed. Hagrid hugged him as Harry cried and exposed through his tears everything. The Dursleys. His abuse. The evil voice within him. His hatred. Malfoy, Nott, Weasley, his year mates. The isolation. His fears and insecurities. The giant smiled and explained it would get better. It was not his fault, and no matter what, Hagrid was his friend. Harry believed the radiant smile and cried harder, despite not having the water to spare.

* * *

The Four of Cups.

September was closing. Harry had just left Professor Dumbledore's office and made it to his common room as curfew hit. In his room he celebrated that the drone of Crabbe resonated in the room, for that meant he was the lonely student in the dorm awake. It was Friday, but more importantly, it was September 27th, a full moon. He took his deck and pet the top card, whispering how he made a new friend. The tarots molded into a new one, his fate spinning the deck to order his life. He called his past, present, and future to his bed and studied it.

His past, The Fool. 0, the happy ignorant fool. Harry knew The Fool symbolized him coming to the wizarding world, blinded by the brightness of freedom he never saw the ledge before him.

His present held Cups, but not four. Five. A lone cloaked figure stood before a stream surrounded by cups, three of which had spilled. Despair, sadness, loneliness. All these depicted his current life.

His future appeared worse than his present, depicting a bound woman in a line with eight swords blindfolded and gagged. The Eight of Swords, helplessness to those without compassion, being trapped in a situation you dislike. On the bright side is you can free yourself. Perhaps he could break the chain and become friends with his house.

After packing up, he laid listening to the loud snore of Crabbe, with Alastair on his chest, hoping to unbind his torment.

The Five of Cups.

* * *

***Almost verbatim from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone because Snape is written so well there.**


	10. Chapter 9: The Waning of Time

**Chapter 9: The Waning of Time**

**AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think! I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. Today's chapter is the first without a card as the title. There was an appropriate card to list as the title, but it would have given to much away and has not been revealed yet. We have a few time jumps in our future so be warned. We cover two full readings today! This chapter will be short as I didn't want to stretch it out. Thus you are short of about 1,000 words.**

**As always, I really need a beta. I make little mistakes in grammar and spelling and could use help in phrasing. **

**Special thanks to and TysonG for reviewing each new chapter. You guys are awesome.**

**Sorry for the wait.**

**Sorry for what happens, please don't hate me.**

* * *

The Five of Cups

Harry loved flying. The wind ripping through his hair, and the empty surroundings, for once, not suffocating. Freedom, careening through an endless blue sea with only gods above to look down, unmatched by his peers. That was why he yearned with excitement for Quidditch. To witness others shoot around with daring exploits, pushing the magical brooms past their limits using teamwork to dismantle the opposition should be the greatest thing to watch.

Harry hated Quidditch. The teams had no cohesion and flew in slow, predictable patterns. Teammates would line up passes before attempting them and get picked off for it, only to repeat the process the opposite way. With the class of eagles against badgers should be in the bird's favor, as they had the returning team against a collection of newcomers in Hufflepuff, but the teams remained close, scoring five goals apiece. The coveted seekers, whom the game could be played between and the outcome would remain the same, floated lazily in the sky, peering at the world below from their high towers. A third year, Cedric Diggory, appeared comically small against the larger frame of Eddie Woods, a prefect in Ravenclaw. The discussion in Slytherin's common room was strange the previous day on which team to cheer for today. Cedric came from a lineage of purebloods, but the Ravenclaws acted as a closer ally of the snakes. A bludger rushed at the platforms only to be turned away by the magic barrier surrounding the stands to protect the observers.

Instead of the game, Harry examined the teachers, a much more interesting show. His head of house sat tall and proud, his face etched with loathing for the game. Contrasted against him sat the usually hard McGonagall, bursting with awe with a full grin extended across her face. Flitwick and Sprout leaned into each other whispering heated statements back and forth with Sinistra behind them covering her chuckle with her mouth. Absent from a more decorated seat was the Headmaster, a fact that he informed Harry the previous day, as the Wizgamont convened on the Saturday and Sunday. Hagrid was sitting in the back, oohing and awing with the surrounding crowd. The autumn air was brisk enough so steam was leaving his mouth, reddening Harry's nose as the boring children's game ticked into the hour mark.

It was the 26th today, the weekend before he could attempt magic again, the long waiting of September in the far distance. His moment depicting Swords still illusive. He hoped, waited, even prayed to nameless gods he didn't know hoping to show him what he needed to do, where to go, what was the way. His tea with Hagrid stood firm as his solace every week, the gentle and kind man related to Harry in more ways than both assumed. Dumbledore was similar. The elder wizard met with him every week to talk, making time for him, a foreign concept until this year. They discussed all kinds of subjects, the professor even helping him learn Egyptian when Harry hit a snag. With his peers, they ostracized him. Amongst his housemates he made no progress.

Blaise would glare at him, and Crabbe and Goyle would ignore him. Nott and Malfoy would grimace in his direction with cruel faces as would Parkinson, Moon, and Bulstrode. Davis and Greengrass cold-shouldered him at every turn. In his joint Herbology he worked with Su, who barley discussed their work topic with him. The Hufflepuffs rotated him in Preservation, each day loathing on their face; Finch-Fletcley, Bones, Macmillan, and Hopkins all having bit the bullet. The only class he did not sit with the opposing group was in the Gryffindor classes, in Potions he worked with Nott as further punishment for rule-breaking, and in Transfiguration he was often paired with the Professor, odd numbers between the classes made this common.

Harry frequently wondered if the other classes segregated as his own. Did the Gryffindor's intermingle with Hufflepuff, what about Ravenclaw?

The golden golf sized ball flew past them with barely a moment between it entering and exiting his view. A few people in the stands doubled-taked, but none watched it fly away, but Harry did. He followed the ball as it maneuvered through plays and around the post. Up, down, right, left it zigged and zagged and flew without care. It soared as Harry wanted, free of the pull of reality. Above, the seekers remained still.

* * *

The Five of Cups.

The news read as a dull affair. Incompetence stemmed from the ministry, enough that Harry wondered if his paper was as unbiased as he originally believed. If an office acted as corrupt and ineffective as the current regime; how did they continuously hold power? Increased strife with the Empire of China, assassin plots against the Saharan coalition, and insulting the Germans by naming a few. The weather in the east continued appearing odd, horrible monster storms starting and ending with little rational out of season.

In France, Nicolas Flamel was stepping down from his position at Beauxbatons. The famed crafter of the Philosopher's Stone deciding to settle down.

Harry sat alone in the library, as usual. In his weeks of being at school none had talked to him here; none had even approached him. He focused study on topics from his book, the dominant topic of his time. The leather-bound often described disgusting rituals and cruel magic spells, though other times it contained innocuous ones, and spells to heal. Harry's favorite spoke of hiding and tricking people's attention away. He grew more comfortable with the languages and did not need to reference the speaking text as often to read sections, he once carried a conversation with himself flipping between the Greek and Egyptian for each participant.

Another first year was often alone in the library.

It was the fluffy-haired girl, Granger, the one who had upset Snape in class. Honestly, he disliked the girl, which struck him as odd with how kind she acted to most people. She was loud and rude in class; she would cut the teachers off with her skyrocketing hand and slowed down lectures and practical lessons. Her tone sounded condescending in all conversations.

But she, like him, sat isolated in the library. She, like him, was alone. She, like him, never smiled outside the prying eyes of her peers, the lonely brown eyes only appearing when no one watched.

He subconsciously knew he should approach her. Together they could be less lonely, together they could help each other prosper in this cruel building. Harry wouldn't. As much as he wished and hoped, he would fail. She was too driven and smart. He would drag her down to his level and leave her with nothing, even if she had him. What joy did he bring?

Honestly, he respected the girl, admired her. He found that odd considering how she presented herself. She was driven and kind. Hardworking and smart. She always asked question's that Harry was too afraid to. She always wore a slight smile that filled her face when she learned something new. Often Harry forgot to read and instead would look at her face scrunch up when not understanding something, or her eyebrows furrowing when thinking, or her satisfied, triumphant smirk when figuring it out, which she always did.

As Harry eventually packed up and left never noticing the front of her text, _Dueling for Dummies__, the_cover depicted two men crossing swords in front of a tribunal of six-member, eight swords in all.

* * *

The Eight of Swords.

When the night arrived, it appeared with another night to decide his fate, another night to reveal the truth. The repeated motions and clever maneuvers worked the fading edges of the deck. The soft repetition lulling him into a deep trance coercing the magic to show him fate. Harry couldn't breathe. His heart either stopped or beat too quickly to register within. The cool glow of the moon cascaded over his bed with his roommate echoing around as the sinister triple lay bare before him.

The first revelation showed his past, again held by the second major arcana card, The High Priestess. Her frosty face judged Harry for not finding her hidden truth, an accusation for not trying to.

Diviners regarded his second as the worst card. His present was also a major arcana. The crumbling mass, its crown removed by lighting, burning in a horrid storm with two men falling to their fate below the mountainside. XVI, The Tower. A sign of Ambition ending in failure, ruin and disaster.

The last card depicting his future watched the skeletal man riding his horse through fields of skeletons. He was to die, as XIII, Death, was his future. When the morning of the 27th arrived Harry strode with Alastair in his pocket to breakfast, bags heavy under his sleepless eyes.

* * *

The Tower.

He cast no magic. Professor Dumbledore, during their Friday meeting, said that the following Monday he could try magic again. Harry even cast Lumos before him. The pair smiled at the success, though now it troubled him. Did The Tower correspond with his magical ability? Would casting trigger the events? He wished to use magic and to use it well. Would using it now strain his body and kill him?

Harry examined every corner, every open door. He lurked through crowded halls to find the safest path; he feared death. The concept of an end terrified him. No matter how much he wished for the pain to end, what would happen if he died. He was not a righteous person, if God existed Heaven was not his destination. If Hades instead greeted him, he was not Elysium bound. What if religion lied and death was the end?

Harry would bite, fight, and claw to that finale. No longer would he regret his life, he would succeed.

The bell tower rang to signal the end of an hour.

The Tower.

Tuesday, while in Preservation practical with Hufflepuff, the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws had Charms. The class, which this pair had tomorrow, went over Wingardium Leviosa a spell to make an object float.

After the class, Harry cut through the courtyard, hoping to reach the library quicker to read and learn more. The pride stalked the courtyard with him, leading it was a red-faced Weasley, his voice shrill and loud.

"It's Lev-I- OH-sa, not Lev-i-oh-sa. It's no wonder she has got no friends."

Around him, the boys and girls of the group laughed at his cruel joke. The clear blue sky above not matching the sinister ongoing below, the crisp autumn air cutting as much as the remark. The girl with beaver teeth turned and ran the opposite way.

She wasn't at dinner.

* * *

The Tower.

Professor Flitwick was highly entertaining to watch. As he hopped around the room helping people with the spell, clapping with glee as one after another succeeded with the task, often glancing at Harry in anticipation. When class ended, he held Harry behind.

"Why didn't you try the spell, Mr. Potter." Harry met him with a shrug.

"The Headmaster spoke to me, he told me how you were cleared to cast magic." He tried to meet Harry's eyes, but the cruel green met the floor instead.

"Please, can you try it for me," looking up was a mistake. Harry was certain that the professor was a part goblin. Despite that, his brown eyes were kind and wanting. His voice carried desperation.

Harry flicked out his yew, grasping it as practiced. He pushed their connection and tried to block the sounds of his crumbling life. He spoke the words, focusing on the feather before him, lightening it, pushing it up, stringing it from above. He tried to force the flowing energy inside of him to grab that concept and perform his task.

His magic did not listen. Attempt after attempt yielded no magic lifted the feather.

"Why don't you try to use Lumos."

He did, the faint glow began, hardly noticeable on the white wood.

"And Wingardium Leviosa."

He tried calling his magic again. Again, he failed. An attempt at screaming the spell had no positive action either.

"Why don't you practice a few minutes every day and meet with me next week again?" Harry shook his head in affirmation and left, walking through the baron halls.

"_Potters alone again,_

_Coming around the bend,_

_Tomorrow will see at last,_

_The consequences of the past,"_

The screeching Peeves tore past Harry, who watched with wide eyes. He stood until an angry and bitter caretaker strode past holding a mop and bucket. As he glanced at Harry, he yelled and cursed at the young boy to move on. Harry ran to the Great Hall and sat alone, picking at his food. With wondering eyes he found, sitting at the Gryffindor table, Hermione, red and puffy.

Later, Harry went to visit Hagrid for their Wednesday. The giant spoke of magical creatures with fiery passion and taught Harry about so many topics like nursing baby dragons, grooming manticores, and pruning hippogriffs. As the sun set, Hagrid walked him to his dorm, chatting about cerberuses. Harry slept the night, dreaming of a bleeding sky, a towering monster, and a possessed Quirrell with angry red eyes.

* * *

The Tower.

The Dursleys hated Halloween. It was a horrible day in their household. Vernon would yell at children at the door and tell them how they worshiped Satan. Petunia, when Harry was eight, took glee in informing him that this was the day his parents died. She never spoke of how, only implied they deserved their fate. The only negative of the experience was how he failed to follow their deaths.

Classes ticked away as he wandered the halls with indifference he never experienced. His parents had died ten years ago, James and Lily, people he never knew; why did their passing affect him so? The strangers of his origin having no influence on him. Around him people smiled and celebrated openly. Perhaps Halloween was a larger holiday in the magic world than in his first. The groups would go strangely silent when he walked past, the stares of the student body more intense than before. Some people looked with hope, others, mainly older Slytherins, with loathing.

Harry kept his head down and walked.

* * *

The Tower.

Dinner was bright and festive. Pumpkins decorated the hall, with bats and paper ghost running amuck above the dining hall. The food appeared more prepared than normal, and the professors dressed more formally. Except for the headmaster, his robes glistened and sparkled in an array of colors, he adorned a plain black one. He smiled down at Harry from the head table, the only staff member not smiling. Dumbledore looked older than normal, his eyes heavier and moist. At his table most smiled and chatted, but few amongst the eldest ate with solemn eyes and angry stabs. His turban-wearing professor was missing.

At the Gryffindor table, a certain bushy-haired girl was absent.

Once the meal and dessert finished Dumbledore stood and cleared his throat, silencing the chattering hall. He opened his mouth to speak when the doors of the hall crashed against the walls, leading in a wounded Quirrell. His turban draped on the ground revealing his bald head, his arm crushed, and his leg hobbled under him. His eyes shimmered in fright and horror.

"Troll, troll in the castle." He continued forward before swaying and falling against the door, sliding down leaving a trail of blood. The masses swelled with screams and yelling, panicking all around.

"Silence." The headmaster's voice called over the all seating and silencing the students. "Prefects I ask you to bring the students to their dormitories. Fillius, Aurora, Hagrid, Severus, and Kettleborn with me." He led the group from the hall briskly. Most of the room still sat. Until the red-headed bully stood firm and approached McGonagall. What he whispered to her gave her a frightening face.  
"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for atrocious behavior, but fifteen points to Gryffindor for doing a brave and hard thing. Does anyone have any information on the whereabouts of Hermione Granger?" After a silent answer, "Pomona, Babbling, Nymphadora Tonks and Cepheus Black, with me, please." She led her group from the hall as the prefects led the groups out into the Entrance Hall to go to their common rooms. The Slytherins parted from the Hufflepuffs lower in the school. Harry walked in the back of the group, behind Parkinson and Bulstrode.

"I heard that winey mudblood crying in Myrtle's bathroom," Parkinson whispered.

"You mean Granger," Bulstrode replied.

"Ya, maybe if we are lucky Moaning Myrtle won't be the only ghost their anymore, maybe they will close that stupid bathroom down for good then."

The students moved further and further away as Harry stood still. She had no clue about the troll, and he knew her location. He should tell the prefect to save Granger. But you could emerge a hero and be adored. The castle is too vast. There is no chance that you would be hurt by saving her. Your classmates will love you, celebrate you. This is your moment. Seize your sword.

His feet moved before he could think of an answer to the previously hostile voice. Carrying him up the dungeon steps and to the main stairwell. The normally well-lit corridors leered down hauntingly, monsters jumping from the shadows. Harry ran up the steps regarding his Charms professor below entering a hallway. He should call for help. No, this is your moment. You cannot share the victory; it must be yours.

He arrived on the second floor and ran to the loo. A horrible stench hit his nose. It was a rancid smell of decay and death, maggots and filth. Water flooded into the corridor with a light red tint as crashing and a high pitch scream emitted with some grunting. He froze. The cries of help trigger a memory of a time before, the screaming, pulling it forward. Death and sadness were his first memory.

The flowing red hair and a kind smile. Warm green eyes. A slim face and fluffy robe. Lily. His mother was perfect and kind. She spoke to him; he watched her through bars as her blood dripped on the floor; she curled it on the floor, symbols he remembered, protection, death, sacrifice. His book used the same symbols in harsh rituals. She stood proudly in the center of her creation, blocking the babe from the door as the living dead entered the room.

He was white as chalk with a bald scalp. The man had glowing red eyes and plain black robes. He spoke with Lily before killing her in a green flash. Tom Riddle approached him in bed, speaking in a soft tone, unnatural for his gruesome killing. The runes on the floor glowed, but the man only watched Harry. Then he spoke the oldest words in Harry's memory and ended the vision with a green light.

The wall in front of Harry exploded as a tree trunk went through it. He dove back as the screaming continued. Two words overtook his being, Save her.

Harry leapt to his feet and charged into the bathroom, seeing the beast for the first time. The green monster was enormous. It was taller than Hagrid with green skin peeking out from animal hides tossed on its body, hides that never were cleaned. Its hands held long claws, and its mouth housed crooked, long, sharp teeth. It bore over Granger who clutched a bleeding leg with a chunk of porcelain sticking out. Her face was bloated and red as she rolled away from another strike from the makeshift club, pain etched on her face.

Save her.

"Granger." He shouted gaining the attention of her as the troll recovered from the shock of his attack, steading his arm for another lift of the enormous weapon. "I will save you."

"And what is your plan?" She dodged another attack from the monster. Her voice was dry and cracked.

"I'll distract it and you run."

After another miss, she yelled back, "Run, have you seen my leg."

"Just do it," Harry screamed, grabbing a chunk of a toilet from the ground and hucking it at the troll. It took seven hits and thirteen throws to get the green feral eyes on him. Harry backed away slowly as Hermione made it to the other exit of the bathroom, limping into the hallway.

Harry ran from the room as the troll began its attack, missing by a hair. In the hallway he ran to the witch who supported herself on the wall, stepping together forward to the Grand Staircase. Diving under her arm, he put her weight on his own with a strength he didn't know as the two moved as fast as they could away.

The monster screamed and beat the door of the smaller exit Harry used as butterflies filled his stomach. He had done it; he saved her.

The wall crumbled as the troll broke free. His heart replaced the butterflies as they tried going faster. They needed to escape.

The monster was fast reaching them in seconds, swinging his club like a cricket bat.

Harry and Hermione tried to dodge, but not in tandem, leaving them stationary as the club crashed into the brunette's side.

The pair flew together through the wooden door they stood in front of Harry cracking against the stone wall in the room slumping down with Granger in his lap. A metallic tang filled his mouth as he emptied a stomach of blood and acid on the adolescent girl before him. Her arm appeared pulverized, matching her ribs. Crimson rushed from her nose and escaped from her ears and mouth. Her brown intelligent eyes met his own, dimming from before. She looked at him with a tender smile.

* * *

The Tower.

The beast attacked the wall between him and his prey.

Her warm, bloodied hand reached up to caress his face before grabbing his own, tears flowing from her. She smiled at him despite the agony. Her mind was full of regret. She wished to sit with him in the library as much as he did. Despite being in Gryffindor, she was not that brave. She remembered her father and mother, her younger sister, a kind house. Her cat whiskers, who she left at home. The old fat black cat loving to sun. That is where she was, under the warm sun in a grassy meadow, fresh flowers blooming around in a flurry of color. In the distance her family played as she lay flat, peeking from her book to glance at the clouds, the smell of Easter ham and pie from a basket not far away. She slipped further and further into that dream before whispering to him.

"Thank you, Harry Potter, for trying to save me."

He was no longer in her mind. All that remained was an empty space with nothing to fill it. He sat in the red thick film before grabbing his wand.

He channeled all his desire for life, his hope for revival. To preserve which should not be lost. His entire being overflowed with a desire to save her, to do something good. He yelled out the Greek incantation "_apokatastíste ti spasméni zoírestore," _or restore a broken life. The spell also needed the blood of a living innocent, someone who had never killed. He brandished his wand, red painting along its white shaft as he maneuvered the complex and motion. As he finished the word magic gathered around, swirling with him as the epicenter. His wand let loose the ring of the bell, the toll of Ollivanders shop. Hermione's dead eyes still watched him. The spell failed; she was dead. Two minutes had passed since she began her test against the troll.

The goliath broke through the wall. It swaggered forward with glee, finally trapping its hunt. It smiled down with its jigsaw mouth upon Harry. Harry was enraged, more upset than he had ever been. He failed, and this girl was dead, she wanted to be his friend and she died. She trusted him, and now she is dead.

Harry did not care anymore. The world, his life, none of it mattered. The only truth remaining was the disgusting thing needed to die. A troll exists as a monster, a blight, a cancer in all but name. It was worthless and evil and needed to die.

Harry looked down at the peaceful face of Hermione, the last smile still on her face, a glimmer of hope held in her eyes. The bells rang around, filling his ears with the murderous song. The voice egged him on. Do it, do it. He killed the girl; it needs to die. Everything is the monster's fault.

It was, but it was also his. He had many opportunities to get help. A better wizard may have saved her, even Professor Flitwick who scuttled only a few floors below. Between the legs of the green beast the horrified eyes of Flitwick watched Harry, who gripped the petite witches' hand tighter.

"Give me the strength I need for this Hermione, I'm sorry we couldn't be friends, I'm sure it would be a blast." Frozen tears started as he looked at the monster before him. The stunned professor moved as much as the troll as the bells continued their chimes. The crumbling room around him paused as Harry lifted his arm.

His mind repeated over and over how worthless the monster was, how evil, how he needed to die. Hatred, utter loathing.

He spoke as he mirrored the pattern he learned so long ago. Overlaid on the body of the troll was the white form of Tom Riddle. The hybrid loomed with its green and red eyes as Harry drew the bolt of power with his matching white wand to the memory. He whispered the words.

"Avada Kedavra."

The room filled with green and Harry knew black.

Death.

* * *

**I am sorry for killing her.**


	11. Chapter 10: The Toll

**Chapter 10: The Toll**

**AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think! I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. Today's chapter is the second without a card as the title.**

**As always, I really need a beta. I make little mistakes in grammar and spelling and could use help in phrasing.**

**I am extremely influenced by George R. R. Martin in my writing. This next segment of the story will be very much like Bran III in A Game of Thrones, enough so I feel the need to put in this warning. **

**Please also read my endnote on this chapter, it will be short but important for understanding.**

* * *

The Toll.

The haunting bells rang a sinister tune of ruin. Harry sat amongst a sea of red with a felled monster before him, the icy body of his classmate a lifeline to hold.

Anger.

This monster had killed Hermione, Harry should not allow it to die in such peace. What it needed was torcher, to use it in painful experiments. Before his eyes, the gargantuan beast skin peeled away and melted into the sea of blood below, revealing inside a human. Harry started to the prone figure, dragging the icy body of Hermione with him, through the knee-deep expanse, laying her against the rubble. He looked at the new body.

The human was pale and hurt, etches of red streaks raised above its boney flesh, its pitch-black hair tussled with no direction. Gripping a shoulder, he turned the boy over to reveal his face. Harry Potter looked at himself covered in blood as his eyes opened to stare back. They were not green. The red-eyed version of himself shown a feral grin as Harry released him back into the coppery ocean, splashing the life energy on himself even more.

Red-eyed Harry stood as his green counterpart scooted back, away from the monster. The grinning version raised a single hand and pointed at Harry as he contacted the dead Hermione. He stared into her brown eyes as they blinked. She lunged and gripped him, uncut nails digging into his arms as she vise-locked him in place.

Her face was sculpted from porcelain, and her hands froze his skin.

"Hermione, your alive." He stuttered, trying to step back and look over her.

"No, you killed her." Harry Potter spoke in the voice of his nightmares, the voice of his darkness, the charismatic rumble.

Harry looked at his red-eyed counter and snarled, "No I didn't, I tried to save her."

"No, you didn't, Harry." Her voice was gentle and smooth. "You tried to win, and you failed."

"That isn't true, I wanted to save you, I tried as hard as I could."

She glared with disgust, "Save me," she wore a cruel frown, "you wished to use me for your gain, typical Slytherin, come out on top no matter the hill you stand upon."

"Please, Hermione. I tried as hard as I could."

She scoffed, "If that is your best effort, I would hate to see your weakest. If you honestly tried your hardest, a prefect and Professor Flitwick would be with you and I would not have died."

"But..."

"How about that spell that saved you? Did you not think to use it earlier, to save me? Was I not pureblood enough to waste magic on? Is a mudblood meaningless to you?"

"No, Hermione, you have it wrong."

"Does she?" Harry Potter cut in, walking behind Hermione, taller than her. He wore clothes new but appeared even thinner than before. He ran his hand over her shoulders possessively. "The way I see it. You could have saved her any time. Are you trying to get in the good graces of your house by killing her? Pansy will love this; she hated the girl. She relentlessly teased her in every opportunity."

"I didn't know..."

"Yes, you did, you chose to ignore. You lived in your own world never searching for the High Priestess, you are a fool and a murderer."

"The troll needed to die; it was self-defense."

"Screw the troll, you killed me."

Harry turned to face the pair, but his wand stood there instead, releasing the familiar glow, releasing him from his torment.

Around him the death bells tolled.

* * *

The world passed as a blur. Eternity had already passed as the view of existence expanded past his peripheral. He was not alone for his journey. The poltergeist followed him. Its entire existence sang the dreaded song, the song Harry forgot. The song predicting his demise.

_Potters alone again,_

_Coming around the bend,_

_Tomorrow will see at last,_

_The consequences of the past,_

The prophetic song predicting his outcome before any attempt. It stopped in Privet Drive. Harry shivered cold and wrapped in a tight bundle of blankets. He watched Dumbledore walk away, appearing much older than before. Harry tried to call out to the professor but only a soft cry emerged, hurting his throat. Hagrid threw himself on a motorcycle that flew away, and McGonagall gripped the Headmaster and teleported, or apparated, away. Lights were on inside the house, flooding the black streets. Vernon answered the door, a hauntingly familiar weapon in his hand making Harry's shoulder erupt in pain, making him cry.

He was a new Vernon; the man was well built and healthy. His face lacked the red tinge of what Harry recalled. Petunia was the opposite as they carried Harry into the house of his youth. She was fuller and lacked her almost anemic look with swollen breasts that no longer exist. Harry knew the words they spoke, but it was too difficult to hear. Petunia cried into the comforting arms of her husband. The hushed conversation grew into an argument, and the scar on his forehead burned. Another baby answered Harry's cry as the adults increased their own volume above the two. Added to the pain was a growing hunger reminiscent of his youth and the desire to suckle. He reached through the now broken blanket for his new provider to help him; she looked him in the eye, and he reached out with his mind, to no avail, exhausting him more. Before he fell into a slumber, they deposited him in his bedroom, closing him from the world. The snow of dust caused him to close his eyes.

* * *

Dust continued to fall and turned frigid as Harry opened his eyes. It was snowing through a charred roof as Harry sat up. The sun was rising as two groups of wizards battled in the snowy yard, people ran around the pair of groups yelling in a language Harry never heard. The one side spoke in English, Americanized English, but the language all the same. They sat huddled beneath a wooden construct shooting spells from cover at an advancing group. In the center of the group a man sat holding a burning branch covered in scratched markings, mumbling in Latin with the white's overtaking his whole eye. The man had crisp blonde hair.

Harry began walking to the group as the opposition shouted in a language near the one the locals yelled in, the flashing lights of spells ending more civilians than aggressors.

Once he made it to the group Harry peered from behind the construct as a beautiful man to stage. His hair was golden and clean cut with stunning blue eyes. He was in shape and wore a thick mustache a shade darker than his head. Harry looked at his wand thrice before finally putting together why it was familiar, Dumbledore used that wand. The construct exploded and berried the group beneath the snow. Many last breaths sounded as the blonde's hazel eyes appeared, a familiar set. Cracks of apparition started as the man with Dumbledore's wand appeared in front of the group wearing a cruel smile as he deposited snow over their heads and cast an Egyptian spell that Harry knew; a blood spell of sealing. Nothing would get in or out.

Harry had no tongue.

He discovered that after trying to talk to the other two survivors, a man named Charlus and another named Cygnus. Instead, through a broken ribcage, he listened to the men, the only two survivors of their group also being the only two from England. The longer Harry watched, waving off their attempts to talk with him in the opposite's group's language, the more familiar the two seemed. Cygnus shared Harry's hair, an unkempt mess of black, though Cygnus's fell longer. His grey eyes Harry had seen before in Black. The mannerisms of the pair were eerily familiar, the stroking of Charlus's hair and the way Cygnus spoke was familiar in some untold way to Harry, running his hand through his now short hair.

Two days passed as they labored away living. They buried the bodies of their fallen allies as the air grew thinner. The three men huddled together as communal death approached when Cygnus spoke up again.

"You know Charlus, your boy would have just been born right."

This was the first muttering of children.

"Yes, and you had another recently, correct?"

"My little spitfire was born a year and a half ago."

He paused.

"You're not bad for a Potter, these last few days' I have grown to see you more like my brother than Sirius or Arcturus."

"I cannot say I disagree with you, though we Potters only ever sire one it seems."

"Let us make it official then, my daughter to your son. If we make it out of this shithole, we first thing go to the ministry office and coin it official." He looked at Charlus Potter expectantly, who broke into a smile.

"I'm in, Black."

* * *

Harry felt his body die as the universe exploded around him again.

He was hiking with his party through a dense hilled wood, searching for some newly discovered bat by his journals. Harry stood as a bystander in the shell of this person, feeling and speaking with his mouth but in no control. The expedition was largely Greek, but the team spoke and wrote in English. While walking Harry was bitten by a snake, a leopard snake, which was notated as nonvenomous by the team doctor.

Harry couldn't help but notice the snake's cruel red eyes.

It was only an hour before the sun dipped that he could no longer walk, brief moments later a burning fever took over. He lay in his hammock amongst his sleeping congregation when they appeared.

They were shadows, darkness incarnate, silent as the moon above. The group adorned long blood-red robes over pale olive skin. Harry lost the ability to cry out long ago. Each of the cannibals reached down and drew blood from Harry's friend's necks. None awoke. He watched as the bodies withered before him, the entirety of their blood sucked dry leaving a lump of skin and bone.

Then he appeared.

He wore his Turban and brandished a familiar wand. Quirrell was here to save him. He threw spell after spell, hitting and dissolving beast after beast, through an endless horde which emerged from the surrounding wood. He brandished a finely crafted shimmery sword which glittered with unnatural light, cutting through the close vampires.

Harry lost the ability to hear long ago.

The numbers overwhelmed him, his casting speed diminished greatly, his sword swings less precise.

One stumble ended his journey.

The group did not pounce on the vulnerable man laying on the floor, a man with a vine crown, paced before him in a monologue. A glitter appeared in his professors' eye as he brandished his wand, unleashing the judgment of the sun. Even under the trees the light burned bright as holy light cast its divine judgment on the godless beings below. They melted and screamed in silence, clawing at their faces and blocking the source with their useless hands.

When the sun ceased Quirrell looked dead. He lay inebriated and pale. The snake with red eyes approached him and lifted his head much like a cobra wood. The two engaged in a conversation when Harry joined the rest of his crew, but he would not get a sweet passage.

Harry was flung into the void.

* * *

The solar system was the first to leave his view, the Sun's light faded into the singularity of all other stars as he moved deeper into nothing, then music and song. Harry prevented himself from looking at the monstrous orchestra as their maddening song blew through the endless uncaring expanse of the uncaring universe. Harry watched as galaxies formed from clouds of dust to the instruction of the tuneless sound. The screeching and hissing the only discernable sounds. Before him, the gate of Yog-Sothoth appeared and opened, ripping Harry through the sudden surge of gravity as it thrust him into the body of someone new.

* * *

Harry sat in a warm hall. Chatter resonated among the walls. He sat in a well-lit room with open glass windows, letting the songs of the bird's ring, in a sea of scattered round tables. Opposite him was a large rectangular table with many elders sitting, and a giant woman in the middle. Below the table sat his many peers in light blue robes, the women with a minor shoulder piece, and the men donning hats. Harry sat amongst a few other students but had nervous jitters in his stomach.

"I can't believe you did it, Henri," a boy with brown hair and a plain face said in French, which Harry understood.

"I can't believe my best friends are dating now," a girl with light brown hair added, a smile on her face. She was beautiful.

"We aren't dating, guys, we are only going on a date," Harry heard himself argue.

"You are going on a date with Fleur Delacour, how is that not a big deal for you," the boy retorted.

"Because Matthieu, we were friends first, and I grew to care for her," Harry was wearing a frown.

"And that is why I said yes," someone gave him a hug from behind by strong slender white arms, after a moment releasing him and sitting on his right.

She was stunning. Her cheekbones sat regally upon her sharp features, a soft cheek connecting with platinum blonde hair shared by only Draco Malfoy. Her blue eyes sparkled as if jeweled under small and cute eyebrows. Her slender neck grew into her small shoulders and onto her sizeable breast where the sea of strait blonde ended. Her petite hands rested on the tabletop as she watched him eagerly.

"I remove my earlier statement, this is a huge deal for me," Harry smiled at Fleur and helped dish her meal. She play-swatted at him, huffed, a brilliant smile laden on her sweet lips. "I need to use the restroom." He excused himself.

He walked the halls on cloud nine.

When he finished his business and washed his hands, he experienced the fun they had over the years, the adventure, the studying. With closed eyes he stood there until a prickle hit his neck's back, then he started choking, opening his eyes he saw the black hair silhouette behind him and the bloody tip of a dagger below his chin.

"The veela bitch is mine."

Chocking to death was worse than a collapsed lung.

* * *

He awoke in a coughing fit in the coldest place yet, colder even then space. The floor, walls, and ceiling constructed from the same black stone and all were the same size. A storm rumbled beyond the wall as Harry sat on his bed. The source of light bled beyond the thing not made of the stone, the bars that held him. His tunic was transparent, and his pants were not any better. His hands shook. Harry stared at the wall, unable to do more. Too cold and too tired.

The light in the hall was grey.

The hours passed as his only company was the screams. Through the bars he heard them, the terrible screams. The yells promised pain and agony, some called out in innocence, but most only screamed for it to stop. Some still held spirit, most, however, only screamed. The sounds became less and less distant as he sat in anticipation.

Around the corner, the cell next to his erupted in the agonizing song as Harry peered at the locked bars. The screaming stopped.

A hooded figure floated to the door, flanked by two others of its kind. The pitch-black robe sucked the little grey light that shaped his room as well as the heat. Harry's hand continued to shake. A green skeletal hand pulled a collection of keys from within the folds of the robes. A soft chattering jingle brought no joy and used it to unlock the room. Then, the lead turned to one of its flanks and grabbed a tray containing a black liquid soup and a crusty piece of bread, proceeding to deposit it on a small table built from the wall. The hooded figure reached the top of the room, which stood two and a half meters high.

It moved in on Harry, who continued to shake. It moved closer and closer until Harry saw beneath the hood, space held more. The endless void of nothing was fuller than the monster before him, the monster could be equated to a black hole for the vast nothing it had, but even that was doing a black hole a disservice for they held event horizons, a colorful flash before the end. Once the hood overtook him, the monster screeched and backed away, the other two screeched back. All three left with his door open.

Harry could not run; he only shook his hands. Food entered and disappeared as the passing of time was noted in visits. After the first meeting he had no more direct encounters with the sucking void.

"I'm innocent. It was Wormtail, I did not do it. He was my brother. No, please, no. I need a trial, they need to know," a maniac yelled through the hall, walking with the sound of scraping chains on the cold metal ground. "I need to get to Harry. I need to be certain he is ok. He needs me, I am his last family, he needs me."

In the cell across from him, they threw in the yelling man. He was an older and more handsome Cepheus Black with haunting grey eyes.

"Shut the fuck up, Black." One of his escorts punched the man's gut as the Cepheus clone spewed on the floor, making the two escorts laugh.

"Please," the man pleaded from the floor, "My godson."

"You think you are getting anywhere near the-boy-who-lived? Sirius Black, you are crazier than they led us to understand. Once your cousin, Bellatrix, is done in court should have put her in here too? You would like that, you sick fuck, wouldn't you?"

"Bella gets a trial?" He spoke with a heartbroken tone. They answered him with another blow.

"My godson."

"You think you can see him; you are a traitor and a coward and a murderer, you will never see Harry ever again you monster."

"Please, I didn't do it."

"Save it for the judge."

"There was no judge."

"Barty was your judge."

"Barty has hated me since I pranked his 'poor precious son,' the stuck-up bastard." He was kicked again and looked at Harry who watched the scene before him.

"Harry Walters, you have me next to the sociopath, Harry Walters?" His eyes widened in fear.

"You have no leg to stand on, Black. Your body count is higher than his."

"That depends on how you count, I only count Black with one mark." The other stared with disgust, joined by the prone man. Then Black noticed the open door.

"Why is that open?"

The guards turned and looked wide-eyed at the cell.

"Shit, Deacon, go call for the grave master, I will do the hard bit." Deacon, the man who held the disgusted look a second ago, ran. The other stepped in with Harry. "You know Harry, you might think this was an accident, but I planned it." He stepped in front of Harry. "You killed my sister; you think you would live peacefully in here?"

"What happened to him?" Black moaned.

"He was accidentally kissed you fool."

Sirius pleaded his case, crying out for anyone to listen.

"_Carnificare_," the man hissed, doing an arduous hand motion with his wand. Harry's head bounced on the floor as he watched his body, the shaking in his hand finally stopped.

* * *

A rush of battles occurred; Harry flashed into one body after the next. Each moment lasting a second, each moment felled by the white Tom Riddle with his white wand in a deadly arc.

* * *

Harry was in a graveyard, bound to an uncomfortable statue. His scar and arm and leg burned with a different pain. The wisp of ghastly grass sat dead upon the ground as a fat man stood before a large black cauldron. His whiskers furred outward as his slender hands worked around the cauldron, preparing for casting magic. He started chanting in English, a song which Harry knew.

His book spoke of the importance of speaking in a mixture of Greek and Egyptian while chanting the song, and the preparations of the ingredients. It was the only known spell or ritual to bring a Horcrux back from death. The downsides of miscasting were immense thou, ranging from being a weaker form to awakening Azathoth, which horrified Harry more than any other idea, despite not knowing what it means.

The base brew was already done, the broth of potion was a troublesome thing in a closed setting and could sit for a week before use. Petrified Nundu breath, the unhatched egg of an Occamy dried pixie wings, the eye of a Sphinx, and the willingly given scale of a dragon to list a few ingredients in the brew.

The homunculus needed to mature, bloating to the point of death only then could the ritual succeed, for only death can pay for life, the bound girl at the base of the fire would undoubtedly be the fuel for that.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son. Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe." The mouse man spoke as he deposited the last ingredients. Above, the clear sky wavered with energy. The dried grass upon the ground faded further becoming dust. Maggots drew to the surface and withered with it, tall trees faded into skinny hunches of their former selves, and birds fell to the ground. The man cried in agony at the loss of his hand, a petty cry for a petty pain. The magic in the air was palpable enough to move Harry in the arms of his captor a spinning hurricane with the cauldron as the eye.

It blew like a quasar. A shining beacon of pure energy lifted into the sky as energy drained and drained.

It appeared that Azathoth still slumbered as a nude man stood where the blinding light shown before. Tom Riddle stood before him, naked but whole. The body he wore was frail and his eyes burned the ever red. His nose was missing, holding only snake flairs. He was completely hairless. He coughed, and red staining flew from his body.

"You incompetent worm, you messed up the ritual. Robe me."

"No, m'lord, I did as you asked, I followed every instruction." The fat man rushed to throw a cloak over the nude man, stuttering during the task.

"Enough, we will speak later, we have a guest. And it is time for me, your arm Pettigrew."

"Thank you, master, I am unworthy of your generosity." The man lifted his bleeding stump.

"And you are a fool Pettigrew, I wish for your other arm." Pettigrew looked down to hide his face as he switched arms.

"I call all my followers, to me." Tom rasped pointing his wand at the fat man's arm, the s's lasting longer than normal. Foam erupted from Pettigrew's mouth as he convulsed on the ground. Every minute that passed added anger to Tom's face.

The first apparition relieved the anger, or hid it, as person after person came into the graveyard. Seeing the man before them, they dropped to their knees and waited.

"My dear followers," he scanned his audience, "It has been far too long, nearly fourteen years I clung to life in lowly forms, hiding and weak." He paused, "But fear not, I have returned, full of body and of mind and find myself questioning, how was it that in attendance only two of you assisted me."

"M'lord, if there were only a sign, a whisper of your life," the silky voice of a man interrupted him, pushing glee across the risen Tom.

"Whispers, Lucius. There have been full out screams, one of which you caused." He walked to the man and squatted before him, "As for signs, I made them as obvious as the sun, for one willing to seek such a sign, what does that make you, Malfoy." He snarled and stood pacing before the man, Malfoy wore a platinum mask upon his face, as did the rest, with one sprinkled gold.

"Although I must admit, you prospered since my fall, pushing my agenda's, gathering wealth and prestige, maneuvering power into my sect, you are a man who has stepped into his own and worthy of my inner circle." He lifted his white wand at Malfoy and drew a floating runic circle in the air, whispering in Latin, as the choreographed song continued Malfoys mask grew more and more gold until two bore it.

"As a Slytherin, I acknowledge and reward cunning and ambition," he walked from Malfoy to stand before another masked person, more feminine, "As staunch perpetrators of knowledge I implore the hunt of knowledge," he repeated the spell from before as her mask grew gold, "Loyalty of Hufflepuff I reward heavier than all, thus none here tonight will gain the honor, but upon a freedom call unlike any other, they shall see a reward," he stood before the whimpering Pettigrew. "I will reward the bravery that you have shown today, you are a true Gryffindor," he cast a new spell as a hunk of gold laying off to the side reworked itself into a hand upon Pettigrew's arm.

"Thank you, my lord." He bowed.

"Thank you, Peter," he stood in the center again, "You may have noticed that we are not alone tonight, for another is within our group of revolutionary's, Harry Potter himself has helped me return to you tonight so let's all give him a hand." Tom led the clapping as the rest joined in as the mock applause rang through the dead land. "Peter his wand." With a flick Harry fell to the ground, he tried to stand but the burning in his leg prevented the action.

Peter was upon him, helping him stand, "I am so sorry Harry, tell James I am sorry two." He looked at Harry affectionately as he gifted Harry's white wand back to him, covered in soot and gore.

"Crucio."

Pain, ultimate pain. Harry had been crushed, suffocated, and decapitated. None of his deaths came near the feeling of utter destruction he experienced now. When it lifted, he still screamed and twitched from the residual pain. Through squinting eyes, he watched Tom turn his back. Harry started a complex arm motion and whispered unknown words through a burned throat as a tangerine spell drifted Tom, people gasping notified him to dodge, though his conversation partner was not so lucky as the spell hit the masked person pulling blood from behind their mask and floating it in the air.

"You lost yourself precious time Potter, Avada Kedavra," the green light strode to end Harry when the ground heaved up to intercept the curse. "Who interferes?"

"That would be us, Tom," Dumbledore spoke from across the yard, behind the gathered men. A wizard flanked him, older than himself with a thinner version of Sirius Black from prison. Behind them stood a small army. One had a spinning fake eye.

"How?"

"Didn't you expect my tracking charm on the boy?" The elder spoke with murderous eyes.

"Run," Tom told his group as they flashed away. He turned to end Harry with another green spell, a weary look plastered on his milk-white face when a flash brought the elder and Dumbledore to him. Dumbledore and Tom sparred, an epic clash of flying curses and transforming landscapes, animals were crafted and destroyed as spells harmlessly crashed against makeshift walls and domes. The elder ran to Harry and hugged him close, the wet of his face cascading onto Harry.

"I am sorry, Harry, so sorry."

"It's ok, Nic, I love you." Harry collapsed.

* * *

Harry knelt on the cold golden floor flanked by a line of men. A glance about the room showed beautiful redwood pillars painted in gorgeous art leading to a raised level that housed an ornate jade throne with yellow cushions upon it. From the main doors, a man entered. All bowed as the regal man entered, flanked by two guards. He led the small procession to the chair. Once seated, the hall turned their gaze upon him.

He wore yellow robes with red accents and a hat half as tall as him. Slung across his lap was a Dao made from the same material as the chair, naked from a sheath. He was elder than even Nic, with a wrinkled face and long dangling mustache whiskers which draped onto the chair. His eyes were a sickening yellow. The two men who flanked him dressed in red and both had jeweled swords, though they had shields a tad larger than bucklers strapped to the off arm.

"The first point of contention for today is Li has successfully infiltrated the home of the Chief Sorcerer, I will reward her family with more than honor for this action." Harry did not know the language spoke, but he understood the words. The man clad in yellow stared at the man kneeling five persons' down on the opposite side of Harry. The unfamiliar figure rose, as did the rest of the line, and moved one spot down. From near the end of the line a new man moved to the open spot, holding his glee behind a breaking mask.

"The second point is about a strike against me, planned not attempted." He ushered in a man holding a serving platter with porcelain cups and serving decanter. The man poured the two cups with the silver liquid from within the decanter, Harry's heartbeat rushed, gripping the sword as he channeled magic into one drink. "Huan, drink with me. If you are innocent of any crime, you will only drink sweet tea."

Harry stood and walked to the man, gripping the cup with resolve. He and the tall monster before him drank. The metallic mercury burned Harry's throat, and he suffocated on the spot. As he lay dying the old man looked on Harry's dying form, finishing his cup. "Justice is so delicious."

* * *

Harry stood on a battlement overlooking a frozen field. Approaching the looming fortress was a small army. The lead was familiar, a younger man than before, yet still the one to bury him alive. He cast a few spells against the fortress walls to watch them rebuff against the old woven enchantments. Each failure only made the smile on his face grow. From the walls men and women threw spells to kill the army below, but they had shields woven of trees that rebuffed the attempts well. A muscular man made his way next to the wizard, testing the wards, and the two began a diabolical chant in a language not made for the human mouth to speak. An elder on the wall called out for all to attack them with everything they had, a mistake as many spells canceled others flying to the two and the army defended the rest well.

The chant finished as a red monster entered an open black portal, taller than both men he nodded to their command and rushed the wall. Streaks of light flashed off the horrifying creature's body as it rammed the gates of the school, breaking through the impenetrable castle and destroying the wall above leading to a collapse. Harry escaped the initial destruction but was fell by other flying debris. A tiny child crawled to Harry and curled up on Harry's side.

"Please Harriet, please don't die."

"Shush Igor," Harry's feminine voice spoke, "You shall live for the both of us," she looked down with a mother's love on the young boy she adopted, "You must join him, for his is the only way."

"I love you; Harriet don't go."

"I am sorry my sweet boy, I must."

No death was better than that one.

* * *

Harry's arm burned. From it a large tooth stuck more than half a foot out as pain overloaded the sense of his arm.

"You may have killed my pet Potter, but even now it erodes your existence." Harry plucked out the tooth and watched as the fountain of black blood pushed out in globs as the brown hair man taunted him. He stood before a pretty girl with hair as red as Weasleys' with Dumbledore's bird in a heated conversation with a creature much like the red one before argued with it, this one however was tiny and had a scorpion's tail and leathery wings.

"I will stop you; I will clear my name," Harry shouted.

"You will die boy; do you understand how basilisk venom works?" Harry responded in silence. "It eats at magic, a muggle could be bitten and never know, but the venom of a basilisk erodes and decays even the strongest magic and will never stop until it consumes its full, by my guess you just injected one soul's worth." He held his evil grin, "I am happy for you, for even a dementor's kiss only removes the soul and eats it, this will dissolve it, meaning no afterlife for you, there is nothing more for you." The man laughed in his victory as Harry reached out with weak arms and dragged himself to a prone book on the floor, sticking it with the held tooth.

"Thanks for educating me, you should have been a teacher Riddle."

The brunet screamed as his form withered into the air as the book bleed the same black blood as Harry. Harry could no longer stay up as he watched the argument continue and the redhead wake. She ran to him, shouting. He heard nothing. Harry died.

* * *

He woke in a pale room decorated with beds and painted a horrible white. Harry equipped the glasses on his night table. Tall clear windows let the natural light of day cascade into the empty room. Outside, light snow drifted down with lackadaisical movements as a calm settled over him. The bed he was on was warm to his touch and had sunk considerably under him. Moving aggravated the rash on his back.

"My lord, Ela, get the headmaster he has awoken." A thick girl rushed out of the room and into the hallway beyond as the woman who gave her the command ran to his side. "My dear boy, are you all right?"

"Of course, I am. And why am I here? Don't I have class?"

The Toll.

* * *

**So, Harry will remember the troll in time but is currently repressing the memory of the event. Of his dreams, he will not remember them completely as I have done with his other dreams so far. He will get feelings and brilliant ideas later in the series from the dreams he has had but will not remember them completely. This is a normal phenomenon and why people record dream journals, the longer away from a dream you are the less you remember it. **

**Again, this chapter is reminiscent of Bran III from book one in A Song of Ice and Fire. I hoped you liked it.**


	12. Chapter 11: Amiss and Adrift

**Chapter 11: Amiss and Adrift **

**AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think! I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. Today's chapter is the third without a card as the title.**

**As always, I really need a beta. I make little mistakes in grammar and spelling and could use help in phrasing.**

**I am sorry for the late chapter (hopefully only one week). Writing The Toll took more out of me then I thought, the nature of the chapter was quite difficult to work and left me exhausted.**

**I don't know if everyone knows this, but I have been replying to almost every review, in addition, though I will address a common misconception here. The events of the last chapter were either of the past, or of the most probable future. The reason that everyone was named Harry, or some variant, was that Harry's consciousness would be seen as less intrusive. Also, note death is prominent in every vision. In order: he remembered Hermione, met the Dursleys, was at a Grindelwald attack with his great grandparents, was a member of a team attacked and killed by vampires and saw Quirrell, met Fleur at Beauxbatons, saw Sirius be imprisoned, witnessed the rise of Voldemort, met the immortal king, died defending his/her child Igor Karkaroff at the walls of Durmstrang, and the end of the basilisk fight. **

**Sorry, this was so long, hopefully, the next weeks is shorter. I blame myself for having to write so much, I need to write more clearly.**

**One final thing, I am debating on having an interlude chapter (from another POV) after this chapter. It would not be Albus again. Would you want this, or should I continue with Harry until the epilogue chapter for year one?**

* * *

Amiss and Adrift.

The Black Lake stood a deep and powerful and beautiful thing. Even in the cool air of early winter, only the fringes of the pool bore any signs of ice as the inky waters clashed against the white drifts entrapping the lake. Despite the beauty, he witnessed it appeared different, off-putting. He could not remember when it began, but the world dropped some of its sheen, the bright hues dampened, and the darks brightened. At first, he attributed this to the coming of winter, but in the candle-lit halls of Hogwarts, without the natural light, the effect still kept firm. Food lost a tinge of flavor and music became less colorful. Harry sat on a ledge he cleared off, his time flying removing his petty fear of heights long ago, turning it into a heaven, as the large branch he perched on held strong over a small gust of wind, flipping through his transfiguration text. He had much to catch up on.

Midterms loomed only days away and Harry was horribly behind on theory, much less his practical's. To say he was behind on theory would be an overstatement, he reassured himself; he already studied months ahead in that regard before the... encounter. Harry still had trouble comprehending that he battled against a troll, and Hermione Granger died. The details between remained a mystery to him and the greater school. He woke and was released from the hospital in a single day by Madam Pomphrey, the school's matron, who appeared as a kind woman entering the prime of her life as a wizard with a speckling of grey hair emerging on her head. Her only caveat to his release was no magic, a stance Harry agreed with. Even now, sitting on the ledge with his winter cloak wrapped firm, his nerves burned with the stress of magic, the burning pain from attempting spells now a constant and bitter reminder of undefined events.

The lake often distracted him from reading, the theory being boring, discussing why similar-sized objects and similar styled materials transfigured better the different. Waves crashed, bringing a new thin sheet of crystal ice on the banks of the rocky shore, the jagged knives basking in the sun, and returning to the lake that birthed them. The deep always called, pulling to him, away from the book and into the deep. Harry returned to the reading, memorizing the facts would be the key to passing without a practical grade. Harry understood the topics, but the nitpicked facts and random instances of who invented what confused him and made studying difficult.

They called him a murderer in the halls; they whispered how he was a squib. He cared not for what they thought. The only ones who mattered were Dumbledore and Hagrid, two people he couldn't speak to. Dumbledore was out for a week doing various things with the International Confederation of Wizards or the ICW, and Hagrid. Hagrid's absence was a different problem. Harry killed a troll. That fact he knew for sure. He used his wand and murdered a sentient creature; he held no remorse for his action. The matron had told him how he used a spell that killed the troll to save his life, and he shouldn't feel sorry about it. He didn't. Harry held no regret knowing that he killed the beast which attacked him, even if he sought it out.

He cared for Hagrid, and Hagrid loved life. Every life was precious to the giant, little, large, kind, or rageful they all held a home in his heart. Trolls were a cousin species to giants, killing one surely hurt the gentle man subconsciously, so much that Harry couldn't bear to look at his face. The giant would forgive him if Harry asked, but the truth of his forgiveness would be less certain, enough so Harry didn't dare ask.

He continued watching the sun move over the waters, traveling through the sky unwavered by bouts of clouds, determined in its goals. The warm sun brought back the memories of experiencing Diagon for the first time, wandering the streets with Professor Sprout, experiencing magic for the first time, XIX, The Sun. Harry had no knowledge of the future or his current self, the moon for the month had passed into nothing leaving Harry lost to wander an unfamiliar road, a blind man walking without a guide, a newborn crawling across a bridge with no rails. The breath of winter tickled him and flipped through his text for him, any desire for study abandoned as he sat content to watch the sun's trek from his perch on the fringe of the Forbidden Forest.

* * *

Amiss and Adrift.

At breakfast, the following day, Headmaster Dumbledore sat on his throne, the message for Harry sat on his seat. He chose to not read it, doing so would be a waste of time; you are excused from classes, we will talk in my office after the meal. Harry waited for the headmaster by completing some of the classwork his Head of House had given him. The busy work was boring and unneeded as potions class came naturally, combining ingredients and following instructions was a simple task, yet the Potions master insisted on the menial task, a waste of his precious time. The homework from the rest of the teachers was as meaningless as those prescribed by the Potions Master, but they seemed more important and theoretical than the razer thin topics that Professor Snape assigned. An entire thirteen inches on the use of Bwindersnap extract as a base and the consequences of such a start was borderline insanity. What purpose did that topic bring to increase his understanding of potions?

He wished he could enjoy his book, read on what interested him, the wonderful magic of the ancient text was more compelling than the drivel of charms, with essays that only spoke to the same topic in original forms. Herbology was a saving grace, it needed little written work for the class, and Petunia's upbringing made sure that his practical's in that class were nothing short of outstanding, something that the other classes lacked.

He scrawled across the parchment, the unfamiliar grip on the quill assuring the illegibility, pulling the basic instances of magic that would associate to the Bwindersnap extract. He scowled at the parchment and continued his furious retelling.

"I always find opening the correct book is essential to writing the essay," the wizened professor stated behind Harry. With a glance up Harry glared at his transfiguration text open on the table.

"I struggle to understand how repeating a book is improving my education," he turned, "welcome back, Professor. The school is brighter with you here." His smile never reached his eyes, a match to Dumbledore.

"It could be, perhaps, intended to memorize by repetition?"

"It's dumb."

"I do not disagree with you," behind him the hall stood empty save a ghost Harry often saw at the Gryffindor table, oft with a dangling head. The collection of plates and uneaten food slowly disappeared, though how Harry never saw. Originally, he assumed the tables had an enchantment, but the more he felt for the familiar touch of magic the more Harry concluded that the tables held no magic. "But for some students, repetition is needed."

"It's still dumb." Over the weeks leading to Harry's absence the conversations with Dumbledore had become increasingly familiar, the process unfolded slow enough to be unrecognizable but peering at his former self, the new, open Harry's actions to the bearded wizard were completely different.

"I was a bad student," Dumbledore confessed unprompted. Harry's head whipped to meet his eyes, no longer interested in the disappearing act the food and dishes were performing.

"No."

"Yes," He had a shimmering gleam brimming on those blue eyes.

"But you're claimed as one of the greatest students to pass these halls or any halls."

"As much as that flatters me Harry, I think the term is wizard, not student." He chuckled, "I was, modestly, one of the greatest theoretical minds ever by twenty-five, and at sixteen I was already transfiguring more than most masters. I even tutored under Nicolas Flamel in France for my final years, let me tell you, those portkeys are unforgiving." The name, Nicolas Flamel, brought warmth and comfort to Harry unrecognizably. Another strange happenstance was the way the professor's language dipped on his last word. "We should go."

The duo left the now clean hall to go to the Headmaster's office.

* * *

Amiss and Adrift.

Fawkes perched on the comfy armchair as Harry scratched the bird's head feathers. The walls of books and artifacts surrounding them stood as an audience to the room. Several portraits decorated the walls, depicting Headmasters nearing the end of their ten-year in the school. Portraits deeply fascinated Harry, like ghosts they held a semblance of sentience and personality, though time spent dwelling with them pulled a disturbing realization, calling them shadows would overstate them. A portrait was nothing less than an artist's depiction of personality on a canvas, a wonderfully advanced enchantment held in secret by few masters, without the ability to think, reason, or remember longer than magic supplied them. When one conversed with a portrait, they linked their magic to it causing it to behave alive; they were as alive as the stone of the castle.

Dumbledore peered with longing at his long pipe sitting on the desk, not smoking before the young boy. Harry returned his attention to the red bird beside him. The feathers colored as frozen flames dancing whenever he moved, the trill he gave made the darkened hues of the room brighten again fading away with the silent breaks. The song's that Fawkes performed for Harry always reminded him of a lament, each song dropped the face of the Headmaster further.

"I have two topics to cover with you today, Harry," the headmaster finally spoke, a firm voice. The wavering tone covered well, "your living situation and the incident on Halloween." Harry looked up from the bird who took to Dumbledore's side, rubbing his head against the wrinkled cheek of the headmaster. "Do you have a preferred starting point?"

Harry sat proper, "we can talk about the housing."

Dumbledore smiled, "I have reached out to many families, families I trust, and have received quite the response." The glee flowed with every word. "My first choice was Andromeda; she is your aunt."

Harry flinched, "Is she magic?"

"She was, the..."

Harry cut him off, "Why didn't I live with her then?" His eyes narrowed and his brow tightened.

Dumbledore's smile only grew kinder, "She was disowned, Harry."

"What?"

"She is related to you from your grandmother, further removed then... she... was." He stopped, "She married a muggleborn, her family, the Blacks, did not agree with the action." The Black's, like Cepheus? Was Harry more Black than Potter? The cryptic message Cepheus left him with rang through, "They are a traditional family and dislike fresh ideas entering the Wizarding World." The headmaster held venom in his voice unfamiliar to Harry.

"I could try meeting her."

"I agree you should try to meet her; however, she cannot take you in."

"Why not?" He wasn't sure why the woman he never met abandoning him caused his hurt, but the sensation of the rejection cut more than a knife.

"She and her husband, Edward, both work at St. Mungo's, as an expert and operator, respectively. When I approached Andromeda, she was heartbroken to say no, but she just didn't feel right with the long shifts and brief nights." Harry slumped into his chair. The reasoning was sound, but still, it hurt.

"I pondered asking Amelia Bones," Harry widened his eyes making Dumbledore laugh, "my thoughts exactly. So, next, I moved to my older friends. I am asking around, but I counted on Andromeda."

"Sir, I have a question."

"What is it, my boy?"

"Black talked to me the other day," he left the lead to the conversation, speaking of his house's dislike of the headmaster was not recommended, "he told me I should have been at their Christmas, and something about being a head of Black?"

Dumbledore grew a concerned face and pensively relaxed in his chair, reaching for his unlit pipe and biting at the end. "Strange, I did not realize you were close enough to the mainline to inherit. It should be Regulus after Arcturus and then Cepheus. You are certain he said you would be head?"

"I think so."

"I will ponder this and put out feelers to locate the truth. I promise you that, Harry."

"So, I will not be spending Christmas with them?"

Dumbledore's face set, utter lack of emotion writ upon his face, "Sorry Harry, you did not respond to the stay notice last week." Yes, because he was unconscious. Harry chose to not respond and wait for the professor to speak again. "Are you prepared for our next conversation?"

"Waiting would not lead to a more pleasant conversation."

"I find myself agreeing with you," he stroked the breast feathers of his companion and chewed on the pipe with determination, "What do you remember of Halloween.

Halloween, the word sent shivers down his spine. The word dipped the hues of the world further and twisted his gut. Pain, anger, sadness; those feelings came to mind when he imagined Halloween. No memory came, no images or sounds. "I remember Weasley teasing Granger after Charms, thou that was before, wasn't it?"

The headmaster removed his half-moon spectacles, placing them on his desk and rubbed the brim of his nose. His spectacular eyes popped more when removed from the thick-cut glasses. "Yes, that was a few days before the event in question, before you ask Weasley has been thoroughly punished for his horrible actions." Harry never questioned that. Why should he care?

"That's good. It is no way to act."

"I agree, too many problems are caused because of people's inability to accept others." Harry enjoyed looking into Dumbledore's eyes. He rarely received the disorientating and distracting flashes. An uncomfortable sensation rolled across his mind as instances of Harry's life played before him, times when he was disgusted with people. He tried relaxing, but they still played. He instead thought of his Potion's homework but that brought his periods of hatred for Professor Snape. Harry tried closing his eyes, but the glowing eyes of Dumbledore were too compelling to ignore.

Harry saw a familiar blonde, a figure which posed power and fear in his soul. The flashes of his own life stopped. Dumbledore's eyes held a knowing look with a mixture of shock. Instead of watching the professor more, Harry turned to the lonely widow. A bright blue-sky interlaced with crisp white clouds calmed his racing mind. Fawkes sent his tune again, bringing Harry back to the present. A tang of smoke and pine filled him as the professor soundlessly lit his pipe, setting down his deep brown wand. The wand, called. It sang for Harry to grab it, to rip it from the professor, and claim it.

"What happened, professor? I don't understand."

"At dinner, Professor Quirrell notified us that a troll had found itself in the halls." He paused. Trolls were in Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them, inherently resistant to magic, stronger than an ox, a powerful nose, and sharp claws. The first attempt at self-defense should be fleeing. Only the strongest of spells and curses could pierce the tough resistance, furthermore transfigured objects held little help as the hide was thicker than the resistance. Blunt force trauma like the attack spell Bombarda was ideal when mixed with transfiguration to confuse and hit the beast with blocks of debris.

"How did a troll get in?"

"We are looking into that; currently, we still don't know." Lie. "Back to what we remember from Halloween." You are the one who knows. "Afterwards, a handful of teachers and myself searched the halls to find and capture the troll."

"Why not all of them?"

"And leave you and the others undefended?" Harry hid his eyes, cheeks reddening, "I don't fault you for your question Harry, but you are inexperienced and learning."

"Thank you, sir."

"It is my job, Harry, education," after a large inhale the sweet vanilla scent filled Harry, "after that Professor McGonagall learned of a missing student, from Mr. Weasley, and took many more teachers with her to find the lost lamb." Harry closed his eyes, letting the soothing voice of the headmaster and the calming smoke lull him into a trance, "She instructed the prefects to escort everyone to their dorm, an idea I should have had."

"Why would the dorms be safer than staying in the hall?"

"In all of Hogwarts history it has been sieged twelve times, the castle has fallen twice. The first documented is Godric's raid upon Salazar's takeover and the second was a demonic force numbering over a hundred, both times the only rooms that never fell were the common rooms, they are more protected than the headmaster's sweat. This is a school. The safety of the children is paramount."

"Godric's raid?"

"A story for another time, a somber tale of warring brothers cruelly put against one another." Dumbledore's eyes darkened.

The wall behind Dumbledore had portraits of the founders of the school, they did not move. The animation charm used can be first documented in 1771, well after the death of the founders, by an Italian enchanter who loved painting. Godric appeared a proud man housing a beard that surrounded his face like a lion's mane. He wore a golden breastplate over deep red robes with a cruel staff in hand. On his hip a sheathed sword that disappeared into his cloak, but the exposed hilt shimmered with beauty. The silver mouth of a lion gripped a ruby in its mouth leading down the warn leather grip. He stood a sizeable man with beefy arms and littered with cuts. Godric's eyes peered a familiar shade of hazel which thirst for battle and the hair flowed a long auburn that would fit on Dumbledore well. He stood on the foreground of a battle, the scene reminiscent of Death, broken banners scattered the ground.

Slytherin was frail. He adorned a simple green tunic with silver fastening and brown trousers. On his left shoulder he had a silver half cape which appeared to flutter in the still frame, a bone-white wand showed behind, the yew unmistakable. While Godric loomed large and full of life, Salazar instead was anemic and short, he appeared as old as Dumbledore but had the hair of a younger man, a sweet blonde combed neatly back. His face was clean-shaven and his dark eyes weary. The portrait depicted him in the office Harry now sat in, it had been renovated but the general concept lasted the time.

"This is when, we assume, you left to save Mrs. Granger." His eyes held back tears. "You found her, and the troll killed her before you, you then killed the troll using Avada Kedavra." He spit the spells name with a bitter sound, the very name made the room less cheerful and Fawkes retreated with a flash of red and purple flame.

Harry heard the scream, the sound which fueled his nightmares as a child, for as horrible as the Dursleys acted, the sound of his mother's final desperate cry was far worse.

"These are the parts we must discuss." Dumbledore, no longer a kind-looking man, features twisted more focused, and angrier. "Why didn't you ask for help, Harry? Your prefect, yelling for a teacher? It would have saved her life."

Why wouldn't he ask for help? Why did he go at all? Harry was not brave; he knew no helpful spells. Why did he go? He killed Hermione, not the troll and not the professors, Harry killed an 11-year-old friendless girl. Harry cried into his hands as the image of a broken girl laid in his arms, profusely bleeding yet happy. Would he be as Happy when death claimed him, the release from his dismal life a blessing rather than a curse?

The hug was unexpected. The headmaster was cooler than Harry and his robes were smooth on the exposed skin. He was scented as the sweet vanilla and the feeble arms held him firmly. Hot tears joined his own as they lamented the loss of life, pure and unneeded in the cruel world they inhabited. The timeless interaction ended as the headmaster took back his seat.

"I am sorry, Harry, I forget how young and inexperienced you are. I forgot your feelings, forgive me." Harry chocked and nodded his head. He wished for Fawkes to sing, fill the room with the warm song, a crutch to hoist him into the correct frame of mind. The bird had fled, the evil words pushing him away. Avada Kedavra, he cast the brutal spell, a spell he hated. He was as bad as Tom Riddle. It was not the use on the creature, it was the spell itself, an evil rush every time he thought of it passed over him.

"What is that spell, sir? It feels, taboo to speak it."

Dumbledore took to his pipe again, "It is, the spell is evil." He paused, "The spell rips away the soul, a cruel death, the fuel of such a spell is nothing less than unbridled hatred. How did you learn it, Harry, what books did you read to gain that knowledge?"

"I never read it, sir, nor have I knowledge of what it does. I remember it, from the day my mother died. Riddle," the headmaster's eyes bugged, "cast the spell on my mother and then on me, I remember every detail, I can do the wand movement in my sleep and recite the words in an instant. I knew those words before my name, I heard them every night, over and over again, drilling the knowledge into my mind. Even now, the rasp from his wicked mouth book-ending his cruel laughter." Harry spoke with an even tone, his mind focused only on this task. "My father must have gotten him," Dumbledore's astonishment turned to confusion, "it didn't show on his body, but his robes were torn and bloody, I assume he stuck him at least once."

Dumbledore stared with a teared expression, "Your father may have been one of the greatest transfiguration users born in the last fifty years, be proud of him, I am."

"I am, I only wish I met them."

"Harry, I have an idea," he turned his wand and a cupboard door opened. From within, a silver bowl floated down, held inside appeared a silver mist obscuring the bottom of the bowl. Dumbledore, putting his wand to his temple, drew out a long silver string and placed it into the bowl. "Think of leaving and you will. Now, look into the bowl and immerse yourself into it."

Harry did as instructed. After a blink he watched the Great Hall, dampened further than normal. He sat at the teacher's table looking over the long tables of the hall stacked with unfamiliar students. An old man wearing the blue of Ravenclaw opened the Great Hall's doors and led the progression of students in. The setting was the sorting as the worn hat sat on the stool with the class size doubling his own. Looking around the hall showed fuller and longer tables.

Arnett, William was the first sorted. Harry intently studied every sorting, wondering why the headmaster sent him here.

The first name he recognized was Black, Sirius Black. His hair flowed the same black as Harry's and his eyes glowed indistinguishable from the hues of the world. A twang of familiarity and affection coincided with this boy who held himself with swagger.

Then she was called, Lily Evans, his mother. Her beautiful red hair sparkled in the memory's grey as her eyes brightly shimmered with curiosity and excitement. Eyes he saw every day in the mirror, yet full of life rather than his defeated expression. Her sorting took the longest yet, after nearly three minutes she moved to Gryffindor to join Black, she sat away from him, ignoring his attempts at conversation.

If Black was confident, then his father, James Potter, personified narcissism. He walked to the stool like a gift from god, his eyes matched the portrait of Godric Gryffindor and his hair was the same as Sirius, only cut short. The face presented a full and healthy version of his own and stood the tallest of the first year boys. His sorting into Gryffindor was the fastest of the ceremony.

Harry longed to join his parents at the table as his father joked with Black and two other boys, continually trying to converse with his mom who ignored him in favor of the girls flanking herself. An annoyed grimace grew with every attempt.

"Snape, Severus." The name had Harry focused on the sorting again. His Head of House was in the same year as his parents? Sure enough, the pale boy had the same hooked nose and black hair as the potion's teacher. As he approached the chair, he sent a small smile to Harry's mother, one she returned. Were they friends? Lily watched the sorting with bright eyes and clapped loudly when the hat yelled for Slytherin, a genuine smile lay on her face.

Snape alternatively appeared conflicted. His pride for his house was removed with every glance at Harry's mother.

Harry re-watched the memory until the need for sleep pulled him out. He woke up to the snoring of his roommate, tear stains still on his face.

* * *

Amiss and Adrift.

The 11th, 12th, and 13th were all set for midterms. Each class had a written and practical test totaling one hour each, Harry had three fewer hours' worth of exams because of this, as he could not cast magic again considering his re-aggravation of the previous injury. Wednesday began with the Charm's test, a boring regurgitation of pointless facts and names that should have been in History of Magic instead. Next was Transfiguration, which comprised matching the wizard or witch with the theory they developed and write a short essay on a theory that you could choose. After that was Transportation, which focused on the rules and regulations of floo use. After lunch they had the Transportation and Astrology practicals which had a flying test and a star map quiz.

Between those classes his classmates held a study session for the next day's test, the group shunned him when he looked to join them.

Potions practical began at ten as they brewed the boil cure from the first week of class by themselves rather than pairs. After lunch was History and Herbology. The following morning was the Practical for Herbology followed by the Preservation and Astrology written test and Harry was done. He joined his fellow students that night for the departure of the Hogwarts Express as his house unloaded onto the long red train. The disappointed glare of Cepheus made itself known when Harry was the lone Slytherin remaining on the platform. The smoke of the express jetted out, and the whistle sang as the train slugged forward, gaining momentum every second. Harry stood in the cold as the groups of students from the other houses returned to the castle, Harry alone weathered the chilled air and watched the express disappear into the night.

The bright moon broke through the clouds as he stood, basking in the pale imitation of the sun, soaking up the sounds of the bustling township beyond the platform. The scents of baked goods and oils replaced the smoke. Above, the stars appeared, first Sirius as the rest followed. Another cool breeze rushed through him as he stood at the tracks. Where would they lead if he followed them, took his wand, and went away, away from the bustle of Hogwarts, the unkind student body, the cruel poltergeist? Maybe this was his next step? Without his cards future was uncertain. He took a step forward, the first step of his new life.

"What are you doing? I am getting cold and would like to go to bed before they return." An annoyed voice broke his trance. He spun and looked at the female voice as Tracy Davis stood twirling her hair with an annoyed stare at him. "Well, are we going?"

Amiss and Adrift.

* * *

**Sorry again for the late upload, I am going on vacation this upcoming weekend so I cannot promise the next to be up in a week but give me two and it will appear. Read my authors note if anything is confusing from the last upload. **


	13. Chapter 12: Interlude

**Chapter 12: Interlude I**

**AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think! I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. Today's chapter is the Interlude, next will be with Harry at Hogwarts. **

**I hope this is as enjoyable to read as it was to write, adding in a new POV is a fantastic chance to explore the world more than one ever could. I hope you enjoy the characterization I have given to an underutilized student. This chapter does not mean that she will be a stalwart character. **

**As always, I really need a beta. I make little mistakes in grammar and spelling and could use help in phrasing.**

**Sorry, this chapter is short, I could have continued but instead wanted to focus on next chapter, the character interaction there will be crazy and hard to keep track of, I am asking for two weeks on that one, sorry!**

**Stuff is kind of crazy where I am, no matter what you believe stay safe, please!**

* * *

Life had changed since Halloween; everything changed now.

When Hermione had died, something in the school had changed, a chunk of the school disappeared and Hogwarts mourned her passing more than any student, save Ron. The defeated teachers who arrived at breakfast the following morning was a sight none wanted to see. The hurt and longing that the Headmaster spoke with when announcing that she passed at the hands of the troll was palpable.

Lavender didn't even realize she was missing.

When McGonagall announced to the hall asking for any help on finding her, Lavender had no answer, not a hint at her potential placement in the school. She spent nearly every waking moment with her and yet knew nothing about her. She ostracized her and ostracized her ideas, made fun of her clothes, ignored her questions, and talked about her behind her back. Only upon her death did Lavender see her true self, a bully.

As she reflected more she recognized how Hermione was not her only victim, she teased Ron just as much for his horrendous appearance and his disgusting appetite. Why did she? Maybe because it made her more confident about her discount clothes and do-it-yourself makeup. Lisa Turban from Ravenclaw, a snob; Hannah Abbot from Hufflepuff, fat; Pansy Parkinson from Slytherin, a bully. Ironic that she felt that when the insults applied to herself.

Near the beginning, she loved it. She held power over the class, to whisper and have the school know the thought she spits forth. A tiny ignition to spread the truth like a fire over Hogwarts. She listened and learned and used that to cause chaos in the school. Lavender never meant the rumors to be harmful, but they ended with Hermione dying in a girl's lavatory, marking the end of her cruel ways. She still watched and listened, but instead of sending the facts out she now held them, marking them for future use. Who knows when Dean's bad-mouthing of Seamus would benefit her? Or, when the heritage of second year Miles Wilkinson would help her? She could still look and listen all she liked, now she would do it with a purpose. The bully she used to be disappeared, much like Ron.

He had changed more than her since the death of Hermione; Ron used to be rude and abrasive to any who didn't coincide with his thinking. He started by teasing Hermione but developed into Seamus for his accent, and Parvati for her dress. After the first week, he evolved, focusing on Slytherins but targeting people in the other classes who did not fit the perfect mold for righteousness. Ernie acted too stuck up, Li, too fake, and the hatred he held to Slytherin class grew evermore. Two names lead the pact, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

Draco was a pompous stuck up brat who mocked all people who did not fit his perfect view of the world, this starting with muggleborns and moving down to blood traitors who don't hate the muggleborns. Draco did not wait a week to tease people, he did it on the train. He barged into Lavenders compartment, and upon her proudly stating she descended from Browns, he made fun of her for her twice great grandfather being a muggle, then he harassed Parvati and Padma for being immigrants, despite their birth in the country. He was vile and rude, and the week he left was the best week of school. What's worst is how despite being a bully she had nothing to lord anything over him, his father was active in politics and sat on the Board. As an exemplary student, he participated well in class; Draco said the correct words at the opportune times to say them. Choicely charismatic when he wanted to, Draco appeared a bully without pegs to knock him down, the worst sort.

Harry Potter existed as an enigma. The hero of the wizarding war foreshadowed in books as a shining beacon of Gryffindor, the pinnacle of them. Like his mother and father before him, he should have been a charming figurehead of the maroon and gold, a symbol to host the next grand movement upon. Tall and handsome; charismatic and charming. He was not any of these things. Lavender had waited and waited during the sorting to have a peek at the man, maybe even merge herself with his friend group, eventually marry. The stain of her muggle background would dissipate if she attached herself to the most powerful wizard ever. When they called his name, she couldn't see him walk up. Too many others positioned to see him, their whispers unheard on Lavender's ears. When he arrived at the stool, she thought it a joke. The boy who sat down appeared too young to attend Hogwarts, a skinny little short thing with thin cheeks and messy black hair. His sorting took forever, as the hall watched in silent anticipation for the hat's call. Minutes passed. How did this take so long? He was a Gryffindor, so what if he looked skinny and short, he was Harry Potter, a hero?

He went to Slytherin.

Not even his own table clapped for him. Why would they? Slytherins all supported He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during the wizarding war, why would they be happy with their bitter rival going to them. Only Headmaster Dumbledore clapped for him, most likely out of pity as he was no doubt disappointed by the outcome, causing others to follow. Sprout and Flitwick made sense but seeing his own head of house not cheer for him made her laugh.

Despite his sorting the Gryffindor first years decided to still give him a chance, he defeated You-Know-Who, so he couldn't be bad. He was worse. Harry didn't try in classes, he never did the spells, most likely believing himself too good for it. He skipped many classes, most likely for similar reasons. The boy did not attempt reaching out and joining any groups; he was superior why should he? He spent his time in the library, hoarding knowledge.

Ron had given up on him the day after the feast, watching him all chummy with the evil people of Slytherin was enough for him, he even sat with two Slytherin upperclassmen on the train. Lavender didn't remember when she had given up on him, but she agreed with Ron. The green and silver had enveloped Harry in their evil.

Then the troll incident occurred.

She would never forget the fear that overtook her that day. The announcement of a troll wandering the school frightened her in unfamiliar ways. Lavender, as she grew, heard stories of trolls, her grandfather worked as a monster hunter when trips to Atlantia were still profitable, thus she grew with wondrous tales of epic fights, trolls were monsters that should not be messed with, even by a fit team of skilled hunters. Their tough hides turned away the sharpest of metals and the deep fats prevented the toughest of spells, only teamwork and blasting would hope to combat them.

One was released in her school.

Sure, the castle housed Dumbledore, a man with a repertoire of spells that most combined would never hope to achieve and had the magical backing to cast them all, but the labyrinth they inhabited still would take time to search. She clutched Parvati tight as they waited for the all-clear note, instead, Professor McGonagall made an announcement at the behest of Ron Weasley.

They announced her roommate was missing.

Her best friend was Parvati, and she had a comfortable relationship with the likes of Sophie Roper, Anne Ross, Aubrey Gray, and Elise Cole. Her relationship with Hermione Granger existed in a tenuous space. It annoyed her, the way she acted, her attitude, and her deliberate disregard for the wizarding customs, despite that Lavender would never wish harm upon her.

A troll's purpose was harm; unthinking and uncaring.

They evacuated the hall under the prefect's protection, she knew stories of trolls, Percy Weasley would be no help, nor would the rest of the stuck up cravens that amassed the prefect position in Gryffindor, no, Cody Hughes, a sixth year who placed sixth in the U17 tourney would be their savior. Cody appeared dashing with golden locks and crisp blue eyes, tall and strong and beautiful. Someone every girl wished to be with.

"Hey, Lav," Parvati barged in their shared compartment, her water break finished.

"Hey, did you get lost?" The Indian girl gave a good-natured smile and sat across from Lavender, breaking her concentration on the rolling hills. Her friend was a vision, with brown eyes atop dark skin sitting on her slender form was a sight that boys would drool over in the years to come.

"I ran into an Irishman and hastily retreated, though his attack was immense." Both girls giggled. Poor Seamus was completely in love with Parvati already. Her rejection became more of a joke with every passing day. His attacks continued causing the girls to grow fonder of him, an ever-growing charm.

"Are you sure you cannot visit?" A disagreement started before the express left un-continued. Lavender wished and hoped for her friend to come to her small manner for a period over the holidays, meet her parents and celebrate, but Parvati's family had other ideas. A trip to India, to see their grandparents, the plane leaving on the morrow.

Lavender had never traveled by airplane before, and when Parvati explained the concept, it seemed unbelievable. A large hunk of metal traveled so fast it lifted from the ground and flew to its destination without magic. Like a cleaning broom being used to fly, an impossibility. It also transported many more people than even the largest stationary portkey's and moved faster than a broom or boat.

The difficulties of travel in the magic world were immense. Children cannot use portkeys due to the strain it would put on their magic. The problem magnified itself on apparition with associated crimes of doing either form of travel with someone under the age of fourteen tallied three years in Azkaban Prison as the act is attempted murder. An added year for every year early. The boon of the Floo network, originating in Germany, let travel expand to younger people. Problems of the Floo showed on international traveling. The governments of each major power created the Floo Network as the dominant form of domestic travel. They never connected across state lines.

These limitations led to the Patil family to involve themselves heavier in the muggle world than many pureblooded wizarding families. They possessed dual citizenship and had the correct muggle papers to travel to any country they deemed fit.

Lavender only knew British soil, and now Scottish.

"As much as I wish too, I can't." Her eyes held only truth.

"I know."

The hours passed with games of gobstones and gossip from various bathroom trips, the approaching station a bitter reminder of a lonely month ahead. As the express pulled in the packed platform bustled with people, families watching for children long missed. The parents had received instructions the previous week on when to stand at the doors, they would release the students year by year, seemingly forgotten as the mob flowed to the windows as children waved out. Hitwizards moved along the walls of the train attempting to keep order, but the attempts fell on deft ears.

Another hour passed before they could leave. Lavender and Parvati moved to the platform to the waiting group of parents.

Her father spoke to two other men, both foreign. The first had similar eyes as her best friend and her smile. His laugh was deep from his expanded belly. The other had lighter skin and had formed a round bald, at his hip sat a blade hilt rather than a wand. When her father noticed her, he disengaged immediately without a word and rushed to her side, scooping her up in a large warm hug, an action she replicated. Her father was a kind man, plump from years of easy work with warm hazel eyes and a full set of brown hair kept tidy. As he placed her down her friend walked to her, assumed, father, and gave a polite bow and pleasant greeting.

She blabbered to her father about the fun she had her first semester and complained about the homework load and Professor Snape. While she talked two more approached their party, Parvati's twin and another Ravenclaw, Li. Padma gave a similar bow to her father and joined her sister's side as Li presented herself proud and tall as the man gave her a bow, a strange display. Was he not her father? Before she could begin an investigation into the subject a red-cloaked hitwizard ushered the party away from the platform, the second years needed to exit he remarked.

"C'mon sweetie, we should leave before the floo gets too crowded." Her father gripped her hand as she bid quick farewells to the dwindling group, the unhappy smile evident on Parvati's face as she waved to Lavender. Lavender and her father moved to the more open part of the platform, away from the busybodies which mulled around with little direction, a speckling of red within keeping order, as they moved deeper into the platform. A few other families had a similar idea, a couple of Ravenclaws and Slytherins rushed to the exit with them. After reaching a fireplace her father handed her a handful of knuts as he deposited his own into a deposit box on the side. A small container flipped out of the fireplace as he grasped the green powder and stepped in calling out, "The Cottage by the Pond," and disappearing in a green heatless flame.

The fire entrapped her after repeating the process and the words.

Floo travel is an uncomfortable experience, and one best to tackle with closed eyes. The people who discovered it took the idea from phoenixes and their strange apparition. The invention was made by one Gellert Grindelwald, a man who would end up performing many evils in his life, a figure of insanity and cruelty. The theory, despite being explained in their transportation class, flew over her head. Her travels had the wind rushing past her hair as the flames carried her to her residence, the timeless travel shot her into the room, and in the waiting arms of her father.

"You should have improved by now," his tone floated with humor.

"Then you shouldn't catch me, I would have landed on my feet."

He placed her down, gently, on the deep-colored wooden floors. Lavender took in the room, the months of school being the longest separation ever, the warm-colored walls and the large window letting the pale moonlight wash into the room, mixing with the oil lamps. The crimson shades stood still, framing the pretty windows. Her familiar couch that housed many days of lounging sat with two chairs flanking it, her mother and father's.

"Your mum made dinner before she went to sleep, would you like some?" Her stomach answered for her as the call for food awoke a restrained hunger. Fighting a blush, she followed her father into the main hall and into the kitchen. The kitchen was a humble place, a stove with burners above it, and a few meters of counter space. Her mother would often cook, though her father cooked an occasional meal. She wished her family could afford a house elf, Parvati had told Lavender of hers, named Teemy, who cooked and cleaned and helped with many household affairs. Atop the stove was a pot full of stew with a smell unique to her mother, which her father started heating with a flick of his wand and a whisper of a spell to the burner.

They stood in awkward silence for a reason unknown to Lavender, when she began her speech her father cut her off and began his own.

"Why didn't you tell us about your roommate?" Lavender had no answer, "Hermione Granger, the one who died?"

The pang of regret attacked her again. If she had done differently would Hermione live again? If she had taken to the girl's aid instead of being a part of her torment would Hermione have been in the bathroom that day? "I didn't know what to say." She lied, poorly.

"Sweetie, that event is tragic. Something no one should ever go through."

"And yet we did, I had Parvati, she was enough."

"What about the troll, you also ignored that in your letters." His tone became more angered and accusatory.

"Because the troll would have led to Hermione and I didn't want to talk about her."

"Sweetie, I am, we are here for you in whatever you need." He sounded more defeated as his eyes dropped. She twisted and headed out of the kitchen.

"I am not hungry anymore goodnight." She stomped up the stairs and down the hall to her room slamming the door. She regretted her temper tantrum for many reasons as she slid down her closed door, tears brimming, waking her mother when she worked early the next morning and hurting her father's feelings to name a few. In the hall, a door creaked and the sound of boots echoed on the stairwell. The hushed voices of her mother and father resonated before quickly quenching with the gentle shutting of their door.

After drying her tears, Lavender could see her unlit childhood room. Posters of quidditch players decorated her walls. No team appeared favored over any other. Her small desk housed her enchanted lamp which she pressed lighting up the room with the soft glow of a Lumos spell. Changing into pajamas, she shut off the light and got into bed, laying on the soft and familiar sheets. As she tried to sleep, she remembers again her thoughts from the train.

The troll incident clouded her view of Harry Potter further than his sorting.

The teachers failed to announce he had any bearing over the tragedy, and that day he did not partake in classes. A normal occurrence. What was odd was the following day and the next he also did not appear. From the grapevine, she caught wind of the purpose. He was involved. The DMLE wanted to question him; they believed that he killed the troll. How? A boy of eleven killing an unkillable monstrosity? Even in his novels, Harry Potter needed higher caliber wizards to help on his journey. If the DMLE wished to question him... Why was he in school? With the power to defeat a mountain troll, he did not need an education.

Time passed and nothing changed, the month ticked away, and he never returned. Did the DMLE arrest him? Where was he? Perhaps he was the one to kill her roommate. Did he have an agenda against muggleborns?

The week of midterms Harry returned to school, eating in the Great Hall as if nothing happened. He sat pompously by himself, superior to his fellow first years, hogging an entire section of food at the table. From that day till the end of the semester, she never heard him speak a word. He never apologized to Gryffindor for their loss, and he never explained how he did it. Harry walked alone, too important for others' attention.

It was the whispers of Susan Bones which shed light upon the situation. Her aunt sent a letter warning her of Harry. The DMLE suspected that he, a boy of eleven, used the killing curse to end the troll. The very curse that killed his parents and failed on him.

Lavender knew not how the curse worked, nor did she have an implication too. The spell was widely believed to be evil, in the evilest ways imaginable, and that fact was enough. Harry Potter is irredeemable and evil.

The sun cascading upon her face woke her the following morning, the seconds passed before she reclaimed herself with her newest and oldest environment. Parvati did not sit next to her, ready to chat. The room did not bustle with energy as they clawed over one another to reach the bathroom, instead, the serene sounds of birds and gentle morning mist accompanied Lavender for the new day.

She dressed and crept to the kitchen. Within the kitchen only a note accompanied her. A quick letter addressed to her by her father saying breakfast was in the stasis box and she had to make her own lunch. He went to work and loved her. She sighed and grabbed the meal with a cup of tea and stepped to her couch. Having a sit she spread The Daily Prophet.

The headline the newspaper had a picture of Hogwarts with the title of "Hogwarts is unsafe, and we all know who is to blame," with a derogatory piece on her headmaster following it. As she scanned the article, it showed no fresh news as the previous fifteen publications. Rita Skeeter, the author, wrote many hit pieces on Dumbledore in the recent months, targeting his political endeavors and past associations. People like Ponomaryova Borisovna, a transfiguration master, and Siegfried Joachim, an enchanter, both who did terrible acts with Grindelwald topped the list. In the recent month, she targeted his running of Hogwarts, the fresh death of a student allowing her to bring up wicked secrets that used to hide. Things like a declining rate in classes offered and a reduction in budget supplied from donors. More than that is the embezzlement of funds by their last groundskeeper, the hiring of accused Death Eaters, all unnamed, and other previous inhabitants of Azkaban.

The name Azkaban made Lavender shiver. Her father sat her down last year and explained the high-security prison to her, none of which was friendly. The makers crafted the tower from mithril blocks and fashioned bars of the same substance. As long as magicals documented the British Isles the tower had stood, the crafters lost to history. When the first excursion to the isle was attempted, the group met the only inhabitants, the dementors. Demons cloaked in black, they feasted through a person's happiness and finished with their soul, winking life out of them. The process left a brain-dead husk, an empty shell. One elf constructed a spell to defend against the horde of the island and a deal formed between the humans and the demons in the tower. Free food for housing criminals. Only the worst offenders got Azkaban as their sentence murderers, rapist, and those who dwell in magics unspoken gained residence there. For a Hogwarts staff to be a former resident left a horrible taste in her mouth, her guess was Filch.

After scanning the paper, she grabbed a book and flipped the wireless to a soft music station. Hours passed and dinnertime arrived, the house still only held her.

"Happy Yule." She said to herself as she prepared for the grueling and boring month ahead.

* * *

**What did you think of Lavender Brown?**


	14. Chapter 13: The Holidays I

Chapter 13: The Holidays I

**AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think! I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. Today's chapter is back on Harry.**

**The last chapter really hurt my confidence. I did not get any flames or negative reviews. I instead got no reviews. I want to know what you think, like dislike. Telling me you hated lavender would have been so much better than radio silence. **

**Ok enough with my self-pity. **

**I promised you this would be longer… I lied. I got distracted this week and read the entirety of The Denarian Series by Shezza. If you haven't read it, it is amazing. A crossover with Dresden Files which requires no background in The Dresden Files (I sure haven't).**

**As always, I really need a beta. I make little mistakes in grammar and spelling and could use help in phrasing.**

The Holidays.

Harry promised himself to never ride the carriages of Hogwarts. A horse team, that replaced the horse with a sinister being, pulled each one. The creature appeared horse-like, with four legs and an elongated head. Its neck appeared more curved and only the hind limbs had hooves; the front held scaled talons. As the scales dissipated a tight leather skin took over, stretching directly over the bone. A pair of humongous wings attached from below the shoulder to the tip of the tail, veiny and bat-like, they stretched wider than twice the beast length. Its tail whipped with powerful muscles and came to a forked tip, sharp enough to pierce anything in Harry's possession. The monster's strangest piece is its head, long and thin with a beak that led to more leather skin hugging the face. A crown of bone horns pierced the back of its skull and the piercing white eyes watched without pupils. What is worse is how they watched him, following his movements and beckoning Harry to ride with them, calling to him with whispers on the wind.

He ignored them.

Instead, he pulled his cloak tight and took a side path to the castle, the same that brought him to Hogsmeade station. The peppering of stars developed into a caking as he stepped through the soft wood.

"Hey, Potter, I'm talking to you." Tracy Davis screeched again.

The sky looked perfect tonight, calm and gorgeous without a hint of the terror it held. What lay beyond earth did not read in his future, the monsters beyond were not his enemy to fight. Instead of dwelling on that, he focused on the path ahead, the soft crunching of fresh snow over dead growth filling the quiet sounds of the path. To his right, a giggle erupted as a monster drawn carriage closed in on his path. The roads converged before the Entrance Hall of the school. Students freely walked in and out of the enormous doors, open on the rare occasion, as fridged air wafted into Hogwarts. In the entryway, the fat friar floated until he saw Harry. He retreated immediately upon eye contact.

The ghost reminded Harry of the promises of Binns. His teacher had yet to approach and tell Harry anything about his odd interactions with the specters of Hogwarts. Something gripped the back of his robe, halting his thoughts and walk forward.

"I was talking to you." Davis looked down and a rush of guilt overtook him. Why did he ignore her? He opened his mouth to talk, but the right words didn't come out. She peered up with wet eyes, pleading for him to do anything. Davis's grip fell limply at her side as she fled up the castle steps.

"Hi, I'm Harry Potter." He whispered to no one since no one around him cared.

The Holidays.

He waded through waist-high snow as more fell around him. Already his hands sported blue flesh, no matter the cloth he covered them with. Slowly the world filled, growing higher with the white frost, the bone-chilling cold that ate at the soul. Around him stretched flatlands for as far as vision carried, the weight of snow hampered him further, as his shoulders bore the mass. He walked forward, heavy steps pushing him on, a crack beneath his foot the only indication of newness. Reaching down he grabbed it, the white indifferent to the ground. Snapped in two, his yew wand emitted heat, weeping over its deformed state. Harry also wept, holding the wood near his heart, a last bit of heat to warm his body, after his hours of travel he ended where he began. He marched, one half of his wand in each hand, struggling through the frozen expanse. Higher the banks grew, taller than him. He climbed, fingers cracking in the soft snow. He sank, no footing to bring him up, the sun above, disappearing in a clear crypt. Every suck of air hurt as pins punctured his lungs, every exhale exhausted the oxygen more. He struggled to escape, clawing at the surface with deformed hands only hurt his lungs further.

A large exhale brought Harry into his familiar room, sitting on his Hogwarts bed. With the moon still lighting the world, the thunder of his roommate absent. He clenched his fist as his nails drew blood and the soft air of the warm castle filled his willful lungs repeatedly. The familiar motion of standing woke his aching muscles as his morning routine ran smoothly.

He failed to don a robe today, preferring a warm sweater to ease his unnatural chill. The common room danced green upon an empty canvas as he left through the hole in the wall and into the castle proper. Harry strolled the quiet halls which longed for life, the castle's blood abandoned it for a long month, as silent corridors that used to house experimentation and laughter echoed in memory only. Harry being the first student to arrive in the Great Hall to eat breakfast was a daily occurrence. He grabbed a light meal and proceeded to read from a library text, a small writing on tasseography, or tea leaves readings.

Harry never experimented with tasseography, never having the time to read his own. Hogwarts awoke the possibility to try unfamiliar divinations so after a brief study and a chart before him he took his tea glass with floating leaves and drank, pondering over the direction to go. With a meager bit of tea left, he swirled the cup three times and tilted it over his serving plate and waited. With a slight professional flourish, he picked up the cup and glanced inside, studying the mess inside. He lined up the handle with himself and read around the rim, his past moving into his present on a counterclockwise turn.

The first recognizable shape along the rim was a small heart, a distant love; his parents. As he continued the tip of another symbol graced the rim, he ignored it for now until he encountered a linked circle cluster, a chain, liking to a trident shape. A series of events and choices; Hogwarts? His present had the wheel and cross, and a star. Change and additions, success. As his rotation returned Harry to the start, he continued, ready to move deeper into the cup to see his future. The first shape was the continued long-form from before, a wavy line which had an oval within, a single speck held inside a snake which tongue lapped into the bottom of the cup. Poor fortune and evil, which started in his childhood and continued to the distant future. More wiggles entered his future, challenges and changes, arrows pointing in many directions showing yes, no, and smooth travel. The symbol of man, knots, anchors, and keys lined within the wiggles. Symbols of action, stability, and cation lay ahead. His distant future was an odd dichotomy, the grim and a fish, death, and good fortune.

After adding more tea to his cup, he surveyed the room. The teachers' table started gaining members, with McGonagall giving an odd look in his direction, Dumbledore had yet to arrive. A few Ravenclaws broke fast in small groups, perhaps six members total spread over the long table. At the Gryffindor table, a lone red-headed prefect sat reading a thick tome. Hufflepuff and Slytherin housed one person between them, only Harry. He doodled on some parchment from his bag, the symbols and their readings, and how to interpret them. With an aching hand, he prepared to return the text to the library. Another read of Egyptian stories and myths would get him through the long break. Tracy entered with two other Slytherins whom Harry didn't recognize before he could leave.

He sat back down he waited, confused about yesterday's events still. They never talked before, so what was her reason. Why did she cry?

The older Slytherins sat near the professor's table and Davis sat more to Harry still allowing the distance between. Her eyes were down as she dished her meal, her eyes crusted from the morning. She also donned nontraditional clothing, a loose green sweater, and a light blue skirt. His stomach called to the library where his heart longed for kinship. The battle wrestled on to a queasy standstill. Her hair looked nice, a curly mass of brown fluff against her nape and the brim of her shoulders framing her unblemished cream face. Only after minutes passed did he notice the color appearing in her cheeks, breaking eye contact from her hazel eyes.

"Hi, I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

She coughed into her sweater as bits of food spurted out. "What?"

"My name, It's Harry Potter."

"I know your name." Her reddening did not decrease.

"And I know yours, it is still polite."

"I doubt it, you told Blaise during the sorting you didn't care about learning names."

"No, I didn't." As her voice increased in volume, he did the opposite.

"I trust Blaise."

"Davis."

She bore a strange look and Harry searched her face for any answers. He met her eyes and noted the gold hue that branched into a field of green. Loneliness and abandonment. She had an argument with Daphne, something about the Black Christmas. He probed deeper, pulling on the topic of Christmas. Tracy always did it with the Greengrass's. Why not her parents? They smiled and looked like a family, but this year they were invited to celebrate with the Blacks. Tracy's name did not appear on the invitation, they accepted and snubbed her from the happy family. Why? He pushed into places she hid, turned corners she blocked, half blood. Mother is a witch father is a muggleborn. An odd dichotomy of the mind as muggleborns still was magical.

Harry looked down as a moment of nausea overtook him. Tracy had wide eyes and a mouth slightly agape. A hand landed on Harry's shoulder and he noted her eyes went past him to the person behind.

"Come, Harry. We need to talk." Dumbledore's soothing voice always confronted him.

"I need to pack." A lazy flick had Harry's belongings neatly stashed in his bag, not a word was needed for the spell.

They left the hall.

"Won't you be hungry, sir?"

"Harry, you will soon find Hogwarts has a way of seeing to its resident's needs."

The Holidays.

The headmaster's statement was proven true as the pair entered his office to the smell of an English breakfast. Added to that were two steaming cups of coffee. The pair sat as Harry drank his tea, leaves floating free, in silence. Once Dumbledore had made it to his own tea, he did a similar process to Harry that morning, swirling the drink and flipping it onto its serving tray before pushing the drink to Harry.

"Sir?"

"Read it, practice helps in all forms of magic."

Harry lifted the cup and peered at the contents within. Where Harry had a speckling of symbols and shapes the headmaster held a litany of them. The cup appeared awashed with the tea leaves, symbols appearing and reappearing in a vicious cycle through past, present, and future. His past had rats, symbolizing loss, with wiggles reappearing over the present and future challenges were constant. His future also housed filled in stars, showing hope for the future, but clouded showing trouble. Was the trouble in his hope, or did trouble exist without the hope? As he moved more to the future, the cups shapes merged and became a clump of black and green, a future so clouded with decisions it could not be pulled apart into events.

"What do you see?"

How to phrase his thoughts to the headmaster? "Your past was difficult, full of turmoil and loss, and you oft see yourself repeating the mistakes, this repetition will continue." Dumbledore nodded, "You hope for the future, with just reasoning, but trouble both clouds your hope and lies ahead," another nod, "Beyond that I cannot say, your future is too cluttered to make sense of it."

"Very well done, I would have you in divination if they allowed me." He said after retaking the cup and peering into it. "Alas, it only allows for those of third year and up."

"Where is Fawkes?"

"I assume the Forbidden Forest; he enjoys hunting there." He tapped his fingers on the desk. "You need to be careful, Harry."

"With what?"

"Your legilimency."

"My what?"

"Ignorance will not save you in the court of law Harry, legilimency is highly coveted and illegal to practice, more so on a minor."

"Headmaster, I don't understand. What is legilimency?"

A brush passed through his mind, a soft touch. Soon it retreated.

"That. Did you feel me?"

"Were you the- presence?"

"Yes, that is legilimency. It is an art that pulls memories from the target, forbidden to teach the general populates, it is an art that few know of; how are you capable?"

"I don't know." Harry sank into his chair.

"Harry you must know, who taught you, how did you learn."

"Sir, no one has taught me anything."

Dumbledore matched Harry's depressed stance. "When do you remember being able to do it, Harry. To look and see what people think, know, and feel."

How to explain when you first noticed color? To explain when you first heard something. The first food upon your mouth, Dumbledore wanted the impossible. His gentle caressing of everyone's minds was constant, only trying to cover the thoughts like a boy covering his ears could he block them. Eyes were the window to the soul, and every glance showed the soul within. How to explain your first touch? Was it evil, cruel, breaking the privacy of everyone? "Headmaster, help me." The walls collapsed and Harry became one with the void.

The Holidays.

He breached the ice and crawled forth into a new unknown, the ground a wasteland. In the distance a shape rose, a tower stretching into a sky-less sky. Harry walked along the broken ground, long rivers lacking water apposed his trip, the climbing up and down tore his hands and ripped his robe. The hours of travel led the tower to appear ever stagnant on the edge of the horizon. He walked and walked through the hellscape, breathing in a rotten air, burning his lungs with every breath. His wand sat in his hand loosely, whenever he didn't climb, reformed and weary of the place they lived.

Day and night cycled many times. The cruel air pushed harder on his lungs and his skin erupted in a rash. Soon the black tower neared, eclipsed by massive walls standing taller than Hogwarts with weapons upon the battlements. The walls formed of the same black stone that built the tower, an inky black withering stone. Behind the walls, enormous buildings were ravaged and broken, though the walls which defended them stood tall and undamaged.

He ventured for two more cycles of darkness and light, the source of them unknown, around the perimeter of the wall, finding the gate that led inside. A portcullis larger than Number Four blocked the path into the walls, though the spaces of the gate did not. With a rough squeeze, he pushed himself through the rusted metal, cutting his arm in the process. A makeshift wrap, destroying his robe, prevented the bleeding from continuing. The cityscape awaited.

The tower peered over the buildings and ruin as Harry stalked the streets, hiding behind rubble and watching for enemies, though none existed. The travel to the tower took another two cycles through the streets of collapsed stone.

The tower stood undamaged in the center of the ruin, tall and proud it watched over its domain of destruction and dirt. The door lay open and Harry entered. The tower appeared as empty as the city. He climbed floor after floor, his aching legs being pushed on by his desire to escape. Harry climbed high enough that through the windows the city below disappeared.

The throne room sat atop the tower, a singular gargantuan chair amongst a sea of empty, overlooking the wasteland Harry crossed to arrive here. The chair was elaborately carved with symbols Harry recognized but did not understand, writing from his book in the language unknown.

"Welcome, Harry," a voice echoed into the chamber, the first voice Harry heard in days. "Welcome to the Great Forgotten City." He searched for the voice, deep and smooth, but none showed themselves.

"Thank you, it is beautiful."

"Thank you for being polite, it is collapsed, forgotten, and destroyed, you need not lie to me." From the rafting, a blur flew and perched on the arm of the throne, a red speck against the sea of black. "You may approach."

Harry stepped forward, to the only company he knew. The tiny beast was red and vaguely humanoid, having a head, nipples, and legs. Atop its head was a crown of horns, crawling over elongated ears. Its hands and feet held clawed appendages and protruding from its back were long leathery wings. Off its butt, a long tail with a barbed end twitched. It colored itself in an infernal red with piercing black eyes.

"What is your name?"

"You may call me Alastair."

"Why am I here Alastair?" he gestured to the winding hell expanse behind him.

"Because you needed to journey here to speak to me." He then spoke an abhorrent sounding sentence, shaking Harry to his core. The only understandable word was Alastair. "Remember these words, Harry." He spoke it again. "We will meet again." He flew and touched Harry's forehead, but Harry never saw Alastair, instead of from the chair a massive, beautiful man, reached out with a ringed hand and brushed Harry's mind, recoiling Harry out of the tower and to the ground below.

The Holidays.

The sun shone into the white familiar room; a clear blue sky pictured through the window. After grabbing his glasses on his bedside, he glanced around for company, none existed. A long wait followed before the headmaster entered the hospital room, worry writ on his face until he saw Harry, his furrowed brow dissipated, and his frown inverted.

"Harry," he whipped out his wand and waved it in a strange motion, crafting a chair from the empty space near Harry's bed, "I am so glad you are alright." He leaned over, checking Harry for any ailment, he found none.

"What happened?"

"We were talking, and you collapsed."

"How long was I out?"

"A full day," it felt so much longer, "I wish we could talk more, but I have to be back at the Wizgamont, I have already delayed the proceedings of today for too long." He dropped a small book onto the bed and started to the door.

"But sir, you forgot your…"

"Oh, dear me, I hope I did not forget anything, that would be a shame."

After Dumbledore's exit Harry looked down at the cover of the text, _Guide du débutant pour ouvrir l'esprit_ by Iris Bellegarde. French, fantastic.

The Holidays.

The library had little regarding learning French, nothing near his text translating Egyptian. Instead, Harry settled for a basic learner's guide on the language and devoured it in his common room. The cool green danced over the text, an unfamiliar and unattached language to the others he learned, different rules, and different letters. Another soon joined his lonely sitting, Davis sat across from him, swimming through the empty room with him.

"Where were you?" Her voice sounded meek.

"In bed, sleeping."

"All day?"

"… Yes."

He focused back on his book. If the headmaster gifted him something it must have importance. Now, learning French is the priority. No matter his wish to have friends, this took precedence.

"Why did the headmaster speak with you?"

"Why does it matter?" He marked the text and closed it, closing his eyes, and squeezed hard.

"I have seen you with him before."

"He is the headmaster of the school I attend." The 'is' was stressed.

"Don't you understand?" She sounded angry, "no one talks to the headmaster as much as you. I doubt the teachers talk to him as often as you."

"We talk. That is not a crime." Defensive, he rarely felt defensive.

"How? Why? About what?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because I want to have friends. My only friend left me, and… I don't know." She hid her face, though for what reason Harry couldn't understand, he already saw the tears fall.

Crying girls, or anyone, for that matter, was a novel experience for Harry. Dumbledore cried before him once, though in sorrow for misdeeds of the past, offering forgiveness Harry could easily do. Harry had no knowledge of comforting someone of loneliness and heartbreak. Did he hug her? Probably not.

She worked through tears and stared him down, her hazel eyes creeping with red. "Be my friend."

Not, 'will you be my friend?'.

"Why?" was not the correct response as she cried again. "I meant, why me?"

"Why not? I can't be as bad as the headmaster; that stuffy old man is most likely extremely boring." The headmaster was entertaining, having many stories, knowledge, and many more jokes. That does not include when Fawkes joins.

"You are right. Davis, let's be friends."

"Please, call me Tracy."

The hour already was late so after the confirmation, Harry separated and went to bed, an enormous grin over his face. The tea leaves were correct: change, addition, and success.

The Holidays.

Harry entered the Great Hall with newfound confidence the following morning. His past miseries were a thing of the past, and he had a good night's sleep. The open hall again only possessed him and one other, the older brother of Weasley, Weasley, his nose buried in a book. After writing him off Harry hustled to his seat, until he glanced at the book the elder Weasley read, a familiar script etched the pages. Harry assumed that some form of divination magic guided him, as the book was too distant to read. After a quick deliberation, he strode to the Gryffindor table and sat next to the occupant.

Despite living in the same hall, the table was different. The atmosphere invited him to stay; whereas the Slytherin table kept him on his toes. It also housed a different food selection, homier, and less refined.

"Can I help you?" Harry refocused on the prime subject of his adventure, the handsome youthful man. He wore an annoyed face. The redhead appeared like the youngest Weasley in many ways: freckled, tall, lanky, red-head, and hazel eyes. He also appeared proud and knowledgeable, different from Ronald in that sense. Weasley, the older, was obviously growing confused at the silence to his question.

"I wish for you to teach me," Harry said.

"What?"

"You are learning, or know, French," Harry gestured to the book, "a subject I need to learn."

"What?" Again, the boy looked confused.

"I need to learn French. I understand you are busy but please help me." Harry looked down and away; peering into his soul would do nothing to further his goals. Asking for help with matched eyes never resulted in a success or a good experience, Petunia and Vernon's lessons ran deep.

"Why?" Perhaps Harry overestimated his knowledge, he sounded as intelligent as Weasley-the-youngest.

Harry explained. He quickly rattled off a lie about a trip to France with his host for the summer.

"… And I will owe you a favor." Favors, a currency used often in his common room. Gold had value, that was undeniable, but the power of a favor was a currency many wished to curry. Favor's often had an unsaid equivalency around them, the favor would never exceed that which it purchased. The consequences were purely social, but humans were strange and stuck to social norms.

"A favor. From you?" The dance of emotions was amazing to watch, switching from confusion, to hate, to glee in mixed orders.

"Of course," Harry didn't quite understand. Why was a favor from a first year enough to incite glee in a fifth year prefect?

The next minutes were a comparison of timetables. Percy had a loaded card with muggle studies, ancient ruins, arithmancy, and introduction to government. He also added a list of study sessions with different classmates for different subjects. The consensus was after dinner on Mondays.

Percy, he learned, aspired to join the ministry when he graduated; to go through promotions till he stood as the Minister of Magic. The gleam in his eyes told Harry that Percy would do anything to achieve his goals, a mindset of a Slytherin. As a head start, he worked in his father's, Arthur Weasley: Head of the Department of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, work during the summer and had impeccable grades. Despite Gryffindor not finishing first in the house cup, Percy scored the most points and the highest grades over his five years at the school.

All these facts only confused Harry further; Why did the boy wish to help him?

Before Percy could start discussing OWLS, a rambunctious pair entered the hall. Twins sporting the red hair of Clan Weasley, a number Harry believed to own most of the school, joked and yelled as they moved to the table. His housemates cursed the Weasley Twins for cruel pranks which led to damaged property, sickness, and missing homework. As he watched them enter, Harry knew he needed to depart. Percy stood to dress down his brothers and Harry scooted back to his table, sitting alone again.

The hall filled again, as it did every morning, as sounds bounced around the acoustic room. Harry studied his new text, wrestling with the most familiar language he ever attempted, making it that much more difficult. The words and phrases were not foreign in design and did not follow different rules in grammar. Compared to the rough Greek and the assuming nature of Egyptian, the writing of France was the same as English.

"Where were you?" Tracy slammed onto the opposite side of the table, the last of the staying Slytherins to do so, "I waited and waited, and you were not there."

"Sorry?"

"Really?" Her blank stare crushed his soul.

"Why are you mad?" He held up his text as a shield.

Her lips tightened and her cheeks puckered, "You were supposed to wait with me to go to breakfast," she raged, stomping her feet for good measure. "We should have walked here together." Abandonment.

Harry looked away before seeing more. The familiar touch on her brain brought him to Dumbledore's office again. What he did was wrong. Steeling himself, he met her gaze, ignoring the longing to peer into her heart. He threw up a lazy grin, the first smile he had given a classmate since the first week of school. "Well then, tomorrow I guess I will have to wait."

The Holidays.


	15. Chapter 14: The Holidays II

**Chapter 14: The Holidays II**

**AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think! I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. Today's chapter is back on Harry.**

**As always, I really need a beta. I make little mistakes in grammar and spelling and could use help in phrasing.**

**Starting now I will be taking two to three weeks to write new chapters; I am sorry for the change in schedule. **

**I know I have this story listed under fantasy and adventure and right now it seems to be more of a slice of life drama. I am setting up characters I promise starting in the summer we will have more of the promised genres. I am planning on releasing the complete story in either three parts or one large story, if you have a preference let me know. The first arc is over the first two years, the second is three and four, the final is everything after. **

**I will also include a trigger warning, there is a minor discussion on abuse in this chapter.**

A pine stood tall in the room, presents sat below the decorated green wrapped in an assortment of reds and gold. In the corner, a record player hummed a tune as a redhead female and black hair male danced with enormous smiles. The steps they took had no practice and didn't follow the music, but the pair continued the dance anyway. From the window the splashes of snowfall cut through the black of the nighttime into the well-lit room, a fireplace burning in celebration with Yule. The giants above danced and laughed and looked down on him with affection, steaming cups on the counter still and untouched. The fireplace dims and unfurls an unholy green flame, licking the room with horror to come. Frantic shouting and stumbling about leaves the redhead holding him and the black-haired man disappeared. She cries into his shoulder as the cups lose their heat. He reached up to hold her, but the room evaporated. Instead, Harry sat in bed gripping empty air in the Slytherin dorm.

His mother's name is Lily, and she has red hair and a beautiful smile. James is his father, strong and courageous.

After dressing and grabbing two texts, he ventured to the common room, already sure of his greeting. Above, the black lake's empty depths sat still, the vestiges of an enormous monster wake the only trace of life above him. The benefit of the lake was, in winter, the Slytherin common room was the warmest place in the school, the fireplaces roaring with fresh wood only added to the comfort the room brought. Throughout the school year the room felt like a war-zone, the upper year's intense power struggles with the lower years learning how, but in the winter, with the students abandoning the halls, the room grew fonder to him. The inhabitants, not the chamber, produced the atmosphere. Now, he sat in serine silence with the room supporting his time of study. The quiet pressure of the lake against the glass, the crackling of the fire eating through the wood, the smell of pine, and the cozy chair all led to wonderful reading. He cracked his first book and read the Greek writing, the power of emotion, and how to bring it to bear.

In the last week, he met with Percy once and began learning the French language, easily learning the unknown language. Percy was an amazing teacher, correcting punctuation and spellings and pronunciations, but even he was baffled by Harry's progress. Harry learned too fast, taking to the language as a fish to water. Even after one session, he was further ahead than someone with months of schooling in French. Yesterday they did not meet, even though it was a Monday, for yesterday was Christmas Eve. Harry held no attachment to the holiday, everyone spent with the Dursleys crippled his affinity for the holiday further until nothing but a void remained. Even in his dreams, Christmas held no fond memory, only that of his mother crying.

His book often reflected on the power of emotions like pain, also desperation. The emotion needed to control the spells the book spoke of holding those two in the highest regard, having the need and motivation to change the world for the benefit of the caster was the highest written line in the text, followed by the warning of the danger of any such attempt. Unexpected consequences played when fiddling with the magics it spoke of, dangerous backlashes with death being the most fortunate were common.

With a flourish, he flipped the page to an erotic depiction of an Egyptian man and woman nude and embracing each other. The section told of the powers of sacrificial magic. With a blush he pushed past the section, briefly scanning a circle titled the bringer of life. It required blood and death and brought a target to a body, though the warnings and last instructions were written in the language he couldn't comprehend.

"Hey, Harry, whatcha reading?" The ever-energetic Tracy entered. Harry briskly closed his book and tried tucking it away. "No, no, let me see," running up to him she grasped the book examining the front cover, "what are these markings?" After flipping through the text more, Harry felt his heart beating out of his chest. Suddenly, annoyance crossed her face as she dropped the book back into his lap, "It's gibberish."

"It's Greek," Harry replied, placing the bag in his pack. "Happy Christmas, Tracy." Her smile erupted further.

"Happy Christmas, Harry." She reached down and gave him a hug. Warm and full of affection, he gave in to it, fighting the urge to flee and cower at the contact, instead, embracing it. Mind over matter. Her curly hair still static from her sleep and tickled his nose.

Tracy was his first friend, but being with her was difficult. She had an endless supply of energy and loved talking, even if she had nothing to say. She hated the library and was not subtle whenever speaking. On the other hand, she was brilliant. Her smile lit up his world when it focused on him and despite her ditsy nature, she was brilliant at charms and transfiguration. She entertained him by merely existing most of the time and had made the past two weeks the best of his life.

"I want to open presents," she spoke, leaving their embrace. That was another thing about Tracy. She desired physical touch. Harry gave in to the pressure, not wanting to lose her. Thus she often sat on his side or brushed her hand against his own. He knew she drew comfort from it, no matter how he tried to stay away from her thoughts. The more time he spent with her the less resistance he had moving in as if she invited him into her headspace and wished for him there.

"Well then, grab them," Harry smiled after her as she ran to the tree gripping packages and running back and forth between the Yule fire and the tree. Every trip left her smile faded a bit more until she came up to him holding a simple brown wrapped present and a long box with a red bow.

"This is all you have?" Moisture collected in her eyes, the reason escaped him. The one brown gift would have been the most presents he ever received. Harry finding a second amazed him beyond words.

"It's amazing," He gripped the packages from her hands and sat them on his lap, "I actually get presents this year." He looked up and met her eyes, matching the welling of tears for the opposite reason.

"But you only got two,"

"Two is more than enough. Let's see what you got."

She ushered out clothes and jewelry, books and chocolate. Tracy babbled about who the gifts were from and what they symbolized, smiling through a mask of disappointment. During her opening Alastair joined the pair, perching on Harry's shoulder. He smiled along with Tracy until her pile emptied.

"Your turn."

He opened the long gift and a small note fell out. The script was overly large and underdeveloped.

_Dear Harry,_

_I am sorry we have not gotten to talk recently. I miss you coming to the hut and drinking tea and talking about your parents. Hopefully, a song can lift up your world. Please stop by sometime._

_Happy Christmas,_

_Hagrid_

Harry closed the note and steeled himself, gripping the hand-carved flute within. The cut felt smooth, and the engraving made it obvious that it was the work of Hagrid, though how the large man worked such a small and intricate device was beyond him. The kind giant did not hate him, even giving him a present. Him blowing into the instrument left a kind hum resonating around him, as the wooden flute sang the song.

"Harry, that's beautiful, who bought it for you."

"Hagrid, the groundskeeper made it for me."

"The giant?"

"Don't call him that, he is a kind man."

"Ok, sorry, I didn't know you were close."

"We were..."

"Well, you have another package."

"Right." He opened the notecard below the thin wrapping.

_Happy Christmas, Harry. Your father left this in my possession before he passed. Use it well._

The clean script of the headmaster was unmarked by him, though obvious.

"Who is it from?"

"Doesn't say, just that it was my father's." He ripped back the wrapping and found a stunning hooded cloak. The material was weightless and slippery to the touch and carried magic in it stronger than any he ever felt. Even more than the stones of Hogwarts. Lifting it up, he wrapped the silvery cloak around his neck, the precious material dropping lazily at his sides, stretching to the floor.

"It's gorgeous, Harry. Thou I doubt it is legal to wear in class."

"I agree, let us drop our stuff off and head to breakfast?"

"Sounds like a plan." She collected an armful of gifts and ran to her dorm. Harry gripped his flute and walked to his own, flicking up the hood as he walked, silencing his steps.  
The Holidays.

Harry waited outside the wall for Tracy to finish her running's with his ever-loyal toad perched on his shoulder. He paced the hall wishing he brought a book, though reading in the dim-lit hall would be near impossible. Alastair hopped from his shoulder and scooted down the hall, away from the passage to the castle. Harry followed. The two moved with Alastair, the quick toad, staying one jump ahead until he stopped, a football field away from the fake wall. Harry scooped him up and replaced the toad, berating it for running off the way it did, but then he looked down. A small snake was carved on the ground, slithering further down the hallway. The pair sat on the fringe of the flickering torchlight and beyond none flared to life, only a black abyss traveled beyond his location. The snake pointed the way; the darkness called but also rejected him. Should he take a step?

"Harry, what are you doing?" He was again pulled back by his new anchor. The curly hair brunet prevented his Gryffindor tendencies more than he wished to admit.

"Sorry, Alastair ran off, let's go eat."

"This is the problem with toads, I don't understand why you have him."

"Hey, I love him."

"Weirdo." They walked to The Great Hall with matching smiles on their faces.

The Holidays.

The Great Hall was merry and brimming with life and energy, an unfamiliar experience becoming common for Harry in recent weeks. Ever since he began walking to breakfast with Tracy, he has entered a hall that had more than one other student within. The head table had disappeared, as did the four house tables, instead of one large round table with an elaborate cloth draped over displayed itself in the center of The Great Hall. Where the teacher's table previously stood a pine loomed instead, brushing the enchanted ceiling which showed a light snowfall. The tree glistened with gold and silver as ordainments and strings of garland rested upon its sturdy branches. The beginning of the round table had Dumbledore sitting in quiet conversation with McGonagall, followed by Sprout and Flitwick, and ending with Snape whispering to Hagrid who conversed with the pale man. A break of many chairs followed before the first student sat, the proud Percy failing to act as if he weren't attempting to listen to the conversation they had, a failing task given his crushed brow. Not that he blamed Percy for his failure, the twin's loud bickering made it difficult to hear his own thoughts. The redheads continued on for another child before the small congruent of Ravenclaw's sat, the younger students in awe of the teachers eating with them. Finally, the upper year Slytherins took residence, sitting on top of the Ravenclaws, leaving many seats between the headmaster and themselves.

Tracy moved to join the group, but Harry decided on a different route, sitting on the left of the aged professor instead. Snape froze upon this action and swiveled his head away, not attempting to hide his disgust.

"Thank you, sir, Happy Christmas." Harry began as he sat down.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, my boy." He tapped his finger on the side of his crooked nose, disturbing his half-moon glasses, "I did not see myself getting you anything." He smiled as if making a joke. "In fact, could it even be a gift if it was originally yours?" He finished in a whisper.

The sound of Tracy's chair scraping next to his own joined the song playing on the wizarding wireless set up in the room.

"Thank you, did you receive any gifts this year?"

"Alas, I did. A collection of books so old my grandfather would have no use for them, a letter from my former mentor displaying his displeasure I never dropped by, more books than any one man can read. All in all, another worthless year of boring gifts."

Harry let out a chuckle, joining only Flitwick and Dumbledore in the action. The rest of the audience looked on in displeasure, or for Hagrid and the student's confusion. Professor McGonagall berated the old man, speaking of social etiquette and proper teaching behavior. This just brought a bigger grin on the half goblin's face as Dumbledore did his beast to look ashamed for his actions, thus showing almost no remorse. During the discussion, a recent feeling, born of the wand sitting comfortably on the headmaster's side assaulted Harry's senses, calling out to him with a familiar powerful magic. Once McGonagall had her fill, Dumbledore turned back to Harry, "Happy Christmas."

The Holidays.

"Harry, where are we going?" Tracy yelled over the light breeze.

"To Hagrid's," he replied, stepping through the fresh snow, ankle-deep. Below the crunchy layer were many more centimeters of compacted snow tenaciously holding him from sinking further into the land. He donned only his silver fashioned winter coat and light gloves, expertly stepping through the land without care for the winter's dry cold pressing on his cheeks. Ever since Christmas of '89, winter's breath bothered him less than it should. Ice kisses he had on his extremities that year marked the last time a fridged touch harmed him. Looking back now, the only way he survived was by his magic supporting his needs. The same magic explained the hunger and brokenness. The surging power running through his veins healed him from harm and prevented more from happening.

Binn's discussed in History how wizards were more durable than their muggle counterparts, a fact his housemates enjoyed knowing. How the magic that flowed like blood added another layer of defense, something that allowed a sport that had iron balls trying to murder players meters off the ground to exist. Harry had no doubt he could take more punishment than his counterparts however, he knew he could shrug off a blow to the stomach, or a pan to the head. A belt wrapping against his back would fill time more than bringing promised pain, though the original marks still showed.

Ahead, The Forbidden Forest banks separated into individual trees rather than the massive sea seen from the castle. Even decorated in the white frost the looming wood radiated its sinister energy, eager to ward off intruders. The leafless branches now painted the woods as a skeletal graveyard, welcoming all to join its undead host, the wind shuttering the branches like grasping arms. Without the cover provided by the leaves, figures cloaked in shadows passed silently beyond the capability of the eye to see, haunting scraping sounds and animalistic screams escaped the confines.

The soft crunching of Tracy's following steps stopped. "What's wrong?" He turned back to her.

"Are you certain it is safe?" Fear was evident across her face. Harry remembered his first impression of Hagrid, judging him for his size and upkeep, just as people judged him. It ashamed him, the hypocrisy he showed the genital man. He could imagine himself in Tracy's situation thou. He looked savage and lived on the brink of The Forbidden Forest, a frightening place amplifying a frightening appearing man.

"Hagrid would never harm a fly, well unless it let him meet something bigger and scarier looking…" he trailed off noting a weight lifted from her, "I am not carrying a dragon and I doubt you are in that cloak so we should be safe." He flashed a smile that became more comfortable on his lips as of recent. The way it shaped on his face felt as natural as the sun rising in the morning. She stuck her tongue at him and walked nearer him, brushing her arm against his own.

Where Harry dressed in a button-up and loose tie with the cloak and gloves, Tracy dressed for deep winter exploration. She donned a heavy wool hat with matching gloves, both gifts from her mother, and a stripped Slytherin scarf. Her winter cloak wrapped around her tightly as she gripped the extremities of it closed. Underneath she wore a heavy jumper. Despite the many stone she carried in heavy clothing, she still shivered.

Ascending the tall steps Harry knocked on the thick wood door with Hagrid quick to answer, "Harry, Happy Christmas." He reached out his massive hand and placed it on Harry's back, covering it in the entirety, pulling him in for a hug.

"Happy Christmas, Hagrid."

"And who is this?"

"This is my friend, Tracy Davis."

"Davis. Davis. I don't know a Davis, though you look like Patience Burton."

"You knew my mom?" Harry turned to see her expression light up.

"Of course, I knew her, Ravenclaw loved magic creatures and would spend most of her time out near my hit." Hagrid's pride showed through about a fellow creature lover, "What happened to her?"

The smile dropped from her face and her head dipped, "She works in Germany."

"Still working with magical creatures?" Harry enjoyed being around Hagrid, but his inability to read people was worse than Harry's.

"No, she works with my dad, a secretary at his business."

"That's not bad, at least they work together." Hagrid started a pot, leaving the door open for the cool breeze to enter.

"It's muggle." The sadness carried in on the wind almost inaudible, but Harry heard. He gripped her sleeve and ushered her forward, a tried smile not reaching her eyes met his and he slipped in. She was so vulnerable. Any attempt of focusing on not seeing did not help. It was as if she wished for him to see and understand. The fighting, yelling, screaming, hitting. He was frightened of what she would be, a witch. Of what she could be. Her mother smiled at her, promising everything would be all right. The packing, the move. Her mother never defended her, only apologizing, and promising a better future, there was no future for her. Then they flew back, her and her mother. They would be happy together, just the two of them.

The next day she awoke in an unfamiliar room in a large and comfortable bed. A little blonde woke her, full of energy and hope, Astoria. A kind girl, full of energy. After her, Daphne, the perfect girl with perfect hair and a perfect family, as beautiful as the flower that named her, and the perfect friend.

Harry brushed her tears before they fell, giving her an encouraging smile. "Let's drink some tea."

The Holidays.

"Then James came running down with a large rack of antlers sticking from his head, chasing Remus. When they turned the corner, he nearly punctured Lily."

"Did she run away?" Tracy asked.

"Not if I know my mother, chances are she cursed both James and Remus."

Hagrid let out a full-bellied chuckle, "You're right on that one Harry. Her wand flew to her hand faster than a snitch and she turned James face down into the ground. As Remus tried running away, abandoning his friend to his fate, she already charmed his bookbag to set off the dungbombs inside, behind a scent masking charm of course."

"Wait, Hagrid, there must be something wrong with your story."

"What's that, Tracy."

"You said that Remus partially transfigured James's hair and that Lily made a partial ward on the fly."

"Tracy, for as amazing as it sounds this happened their fifth year." She still displayed disbelief, "Harry's parents were two of the most amazing wand users I have ever met. James did conjuring on his OWL and Lily broke down a ward for hers."

"Wow, that's amazing," Tracy said. Why couldn't he? If Harry's parents were so amazing, why did every spell fail him, why did he fail so much at casting magic if his parents were so talented. "So, what happens next?" she continued.

"Well, Lily is with me for detention the following week, no dueling in the hallways remember, and I ask why she responded the way she did."

"And."

"And she goes, 'That dumb stag stank so much I smelt him before he turned the corner. I am telling you Hagrid, the dungbombs are an improvement.'" Hagrid laughed the loudest, but Tracy's giggle nearly matched it for volume. Harry did as well, though he required effort.

"What's that for Hagrid." Tracy pointed to a framed newspaper, from the current year, with goblins walking about on the cover.

"Oh, that's the Gringotts break-in of July."

"Why did you hang it?" Harry cut him off.

"Well, earlier that day I emptied the vault. I figure I am the reason Gringotts still has a perfect record."

"What did you grab?" He pushed more, a mistake if the discomfort Hagrid showed told him anything.

"That's not important, Harry. Just an errant for Dumbledore and Flamel." He suddenly stopped, as if he let out a tremendous secret. "Forget you heard that, just, wow, look at the time, getting quite late. Why don't you two head back?" The pair complied with the kind man and soon walked through fresh snow at the late hour of four o'clock.

The Holidays.

After dinner, Tracy and Harry headed back to the dorm and played a few games: chess, gobstones, and exploding snap. After giving each other a hug, they wished a happy holiday and went to their dorms. In his Harry found his silver cloak calling him. Wrapping it on his shoulders, he felt safe and warm, as if his dad hugged him from above. "I love you dad, Happy Christmas. You two mom." Curling up he wandered off into the land of dreams, closer to his parents than ever before.


	16. Chapter 15: The Holidays III

**Chapter 15: The Holidays III**

**AN: Sorry I took so long to make this one, it also is not my best chapter. I will no longer be making any promises on update times, only that this story will see an end. I was hoping to finish the Christmas holidays this chapter, turns out that I will not be able to finish year one without crossing over 100K words, yay. Sorry if I am boring you with the long writing, I am trying to streamline as much as I can. **

**I need a beta, Sir Dedrick the Cool offered, but I saw no response to my PM. If you are still interested could you please PM me, it would mean a lot? **

**Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think!**

**There is a piece of dialogue missing from this chapter, I will add it later after the school year finishes, it has no bearing on year one other than the interactions of Harry and Dumbledore. **

"I am sorry, my lord," A familiar voice spoke.

"I am certain you are," A shrill rasp without weight echoed around the void.

"I tried to get the stone, but the Troll died too quickly,"

"And you never tried again,"

"It was too dangerous, Dumbledore…"

"Is a fool. You could have received the stone whenever you wished. The old man is bare, only his reputation remaining."

"Sir?"

"I will aid you, my servant,"

"How will you…" He began screaming, a terrifying sound of pure pain.

Harry woke. The silent room cradling him with his new cloak. Silently he walked into the restroom, the enchanted lamps flaming to life with a morning glow. Harry strode to the sink to wash his face and rub the sleep from his eyes when no one looked back at him. Despite searching the mirror, no image responded to his movements. After splashing water on his face, he checked again, hoping to see his reflection gazing back, but none appeared.

Harry screamed.

Nothing returned from the reverberations. His voice had gone silent. He pinched his arm and pain jetted from the spot. You still feel. You still are alive. His inner voice reasoned, the dark companion had been missing for a long time, and much like the last time, he returned the malice that commonly accompanied him was missing.

"But I feel ghost, I can touch them."

"Where did I go?"

"Did I die?"

"Dumbledore."

Harry left and exited the common room. He walked the familiar route in reverse, going from his dorm to the headmaster's office. Only before the gargoyle did his mistake come to fruition. He yelled and asked for entrance. His voice did not escape the confines of his head. Gripping the construct had the ever-watchful eyes move more, but the gargoyle didn't ask for a password.

Password.

He could no longer enter his dorm; it was password protected.

He curled into a ball and cried. His tears landed on the floor and stayed there, a small puddle proving his existence.

The gargoyle turned, revealing the hidden stair as the professor came down, dressed in pajamas decorated in unicorns colored pink.

"Professor, help."

Again, his call met no response.

"Homenum Revelio."

A wave rippled from the professor's wand, looking like a breeze carrying the summer's pollen. When the wave reached himself the spell disformed, moving past his position, and reforming behind. Appearing satisfied, Dumbledore turned to leave. Before he could Harry rushed up to him, slamming his body against the professors.

The aged man stayed standing, rocking from the collision, and looking around frantically. Then understanding replaced confusion in his warm blue eyes. "Harry, take off your hood." Harry threw it off.

"Professor." He yelled as the walls responded with the same word in kind.

"Welcome back, my boy. I see you are enjoying my gift." His enormous smile hid the deeper frustrations laying beneath.

"Sir, what happened?"

"You discovered my gift to you, or rather, your father's inheritance. What you are wearing is a cloak of invisibility, and a rare one at that."

"Sir, I felt as if," he paused and centered himself, "like I no longer existed."

"It appears to protect you more than it should, the spell I cast, Homenum Revelio, should have immediately informed me of your presence, all of my experimentings led me to that working."

"You did not know I was here?"

"No, it appears that cloak hid some of its secrets from me."

"Yet I can keep it?"

"Of course, Harry, in fact, I highly recommend it."

The Holidays.

'Twas the day after Christmas and all through school, Tracy was screaming for him being a fool.

"I thought you understood, Harry Potter, that friends walk with each other to breakfast in the morning."

At some point during her rant he stopped paying attention, instead, watching the headmaster at the table who gave his own attention back. The enchanted sky above sent delicate illusions of snow upon its student's heads, those in attendance at least. Amongst the upper years many were missing, those who showed appeared sick. Percy and a Ravenclaw prefect both flipped between stolen glances and keeping down bile.

"Harry,"

Alistair had joined him today, the toad followed close behind him since he left the headmaster's office. The amphibian hopped to him and gave a stony stare, judging Harry for crimes he did not recognize. He sat on the table and watched Professor McGonagall, one teacher still in the school, with feared eyes, the blank stare that normally crafted his face twisted into a look of fear.

"Harry, are you even listening to me?"

"Of course, I am Tracy, of course."

The Holidays.

Breath. Shuffle. Breath.

He worked his cards for the first time in months.

Breath. Shuffle. Ruffle. Breath.

They were stiff in his hands, resistant to his turns and ruffles. The months of unused weighed heavily on the deck as it fought his maneuvers, resisting the attempts to gage the steady flow of magic around him and warp it into understanding. Coaxing the intervention of Thoth or Moirai or some other power to help him read probabilities of tomorrow would be difficult if his medium refused to work.

Breath. Shuffle. Ruffle. Turn. Breath.

The lull of familiarity washed him, and he worked the ridged cards. Despite the well-worn edges of the deck, yearned to be molded but resisted his attempts still.

Breath. Shuffle. Ruffle. Turn. Ruffle. Breath.

In his past he never believed them to be a medium, they always were the future, they were not acted upon by anything but themselves. His study into the art of divination only clouded his vision of the future, instead of opening his eyes to more of the world, the study of magical tarot bottlenecked his progress on the study. Harry's mind closed to the endless possibilities of his youth. But how to return?

Breath. Shuffle. Ruffle. Turn. Ruffle. Shuffle. Breath.

Let go.

The pattern from before instead jumbled and mixed as his cards danced through his practiced hands. Techniques badgered into him by Hogwarts text fell forgotten as he conducted his friends around his fingers. Experimental mid cuts and twist pulling cards from random intervals in the card pile only to flip the entire deck again worked into his act. The full moon decorated the sky above him as he preformed for no audience in the central courtyard, sat in the snow, and hidden below his father's cloak.

He had pushed the snow and scraped the ice from the stone bench before him, an alter to lay his future upon, as he cut and shuffled the deck. The cool breeze of December bit at his skin, though to no avail as the first card sprawled on the seat. Followed by the second and third in tow.

The Six of Cups. The Star. The Three of Wands.

His past modeled itself as The Six of Cups. The titular cups each housed a single five-pointed flower, the stark white contrasting heavily against its yellow backgrounds. Four sat in the art's bottom whilst another sat atop a stone structure. The last cup was a gift, passed from one child to another. They stood before a yellow house and behind yellow walls, a guardsman strolling, marking the only other person in the depiction. Calm. Peace. Pleasantness. Happiness was the principal purpose of the card, though always in the past, a card of remembrance. In his past, it was a good card to have, a symbol of Tracy Davis, his new friend.

A major arcana stood in the center of his past and future, the card noted by XVII. Despite being called the star over one lived in the picture, One and seven decorate the heavens above a nude woman, all holding one and seven points. The card, also called The Dog-Star, or Sirius, or the Star of the Magi. Sirius is called The Star, for he outshines the seven lesser stars in the sky, drawing the attention of all to him. As a child sorting through the cards, The Star brought with it a powerful feeling of comfort, home, protection, and the closest thing to love. The woman below the stars above pours water from two pitchers. One adds to the lake which holds the woman's right leg, rippling over the water as the other drenches the grass below her left knee. Behind her, a bird sits atop a distant tree. A sign of hope. Despite the hope it brings, the card has a more consensuses definition, a time of reflection and contemplation. The rippling waters acting as a mirror of emotion.

A strange habit was forming, of his future being one of choices and hardships, wands again decorated his destination. Three of them. The darkening sky stood above a shimmering sea, reflecting the heavens back as a man stands in a grove of three staves, watching as the ships depart from him. He is robed with a half cape of yellow over his left shoulder. One wand bears part of his load. One could read this card as good; the ships are his and departing to bring wealth and learning, a successful venture. Perhaps instead life is moving past, leaving the man behind to face the setting world alone.

The breeze danced again, dragging the dry winter's chill with it, shuffling his past and present and future with the rest of the deck and into the snow. He lunged forward to collect his treasure and clean it off the soft snow, carefully placing his precious cards into the container and away in a pocket. Above, the moon laughed down with its brightest friend Sirius. Harry laughed back, invisible to the celestial bodies which decorated his past, present, and future.

The Holidays.

Despite the late hour, drowsiness did not accompany Harry on his walk back to his dorm. The full moon invigorated his soul, dispelling the traces of sleep from his body. His cloak offered a new door to a sleepless night, a tactic to avoid the consequences of being out late. Before uttering the password to the doorless entrance, he turned back to the heart of the castle, away from the darkness beyond his dorm and back into the castle proper. The hallways, even during his morning walks, hosted life and wonderment unlike any Harry had seen before, but in the dusk sinister shadows loomed over every corner and banister, clinging to the walls and dragging them into the abyss. He passed a pair of Prefects, a Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, moving to a broom cupboard in a tight embrace. Even passing them he saw no indication they noticed him walking.

His wondering led him to room after room, most empty but others housing wonderful treasures. A Skeleton of a dragon in full, a snake which spoke crude insults to the farmer sharing his portrait, and a wood desk which turned the pages of the book on top of it, though its speed was too quick for any man to read. Then he arrived in a room containing only a strange and towering covered object in the center. After assuring he was alone, trying the spell that Dumbledore showed him successfully seeing a wave of magic roll from his wand. The spell Homenum Revilio did not exhaust or hurt him as other spells did, instead the magic resonated with him, yearning to be called forth more. Harry did not know the intricacies of the spell, nor how he knew if there was a person hidden, but he assumed the magic would tell him. He gripped the corner of the sheet and pulled, the slight tug being the only requirement for the sheet to collapse onto the floor as if the concealed object wished to be free.

Harry saw himself.

An ornate mirror stood before him, tall as Hagrid and as wide as the half-giants' wingspan. Its mass rested on a black metal base and a golden frame with elaborate scrips decorating the walls encased the mirror, drawings of shapes with no direction housed the two sides. The arched top of the mirror had a nonsense word scrawled on it, erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. The most peculiar part of the strange hidden mirror was his self staring back, the magic of the cloak not preventing it from locating him.

Perhaps he could take off the cloak. If the mirror saw him, did it matter?

Was there harm in peeking without the cloak's safety?

The fabric dropped to the floor, ringing around Harry as he fell to his knees. Fire and blood responded to him. The Mirror saw into the heart of the Abyss, the place Harry traveled in dreams. An endless waste, the unkilling heat, the endless nothing. The mirror showed him all he wished to forget. The endlessness of space and the impossible depths of the sea caressed the corners of his mind that he locked out, the fear gripped back at his heart. Then the flames retreated with a flick of water, the waste transformed into a sea of life, and the numbing freeze rendered powerless.

His parents stood behind him, a hand on each shoulder. They touched him, turning did not reveal them but the mirror showed the truth, they were there, with him. James and Lily were protecting him, keeping the dark and evil at bay. Vernon, Petunia, the monsters in places unknown, all could not harm him with his parents near.

His mother's eyes watched him with love, the same eyes he had, the eyes that made everyone uncomfortable only reminded him of her love. His father's grin he gave back a grin he adopted recently. They spoke to him, though the words never reached his ear, the longer he stayed though the more he heard, what once was only a movement instead filled his ears, something near words was forming. Soon the message would arrive.

The sun ruined everything.

Its piercing glare shown into his eyes, ruining whatever his mother's words were. Before he could return to his mirror, one thought came, Tracy. She would kill him if he were not in the common room with her this morning. The lecture he had yesterday dwarfed by comparison. He threw the blanket over the mirror with a vow to return for his parents that night and departed the room, dressed in his cloak of invisibility.

The Holidays.

His entire walk to the common room was a mental exercise, his conscious nagging to return to the mirror. To return and see his parents is all he wanted. It took many tries to clear his mind from the thoughts, with any drop in effort bringing the wish to return. After cleaning in his room and exiting to the common, the drain already felled his steps. The lack of sleep did not help in the exhausting task either.

Tracy was her normal self. She never asked why his eyes drooped or his speech slurred.

During the following hours, the pair strolled the halls of Hogwarts, played devouring kelpie, and avoided the twins. Each hour met Harry with the desire to return to the room with the mirror, its verbiage nonsense ringing in his ear. Harry thought to call it Erised, an easy remembrance of its statement which sounded, unlike every language he spoke. When they walked the halls, he always trailed to the corridor which held it. Harry running from the twins brought him back. Every time he arrived, he would watch and wait by the door as the overwhelming need to enter flushed.

But he never entered, not with Tracy. Erised was special, she was his; it was him and his parents.

That night, under the cover of his fathers' cloak, he went to the room after the curfew hour passed. The devoid common room made exiting a breeze, and the lack of students meant they lessened patrols. After opening the door and tearing down the cloth, he gazed at himself under his cloak, letting it drop to the floor as he saw his parents again, whispering to him in silent voices. His mother's flaming hair danced in the air and his father's smile lit up his world as the door creaked but could not draw his attention away from the mirror.

"Harry, I knew I would find you here," Tracy said, her voice calm and flat. But Harry made no effort to return her statement, nor even care for her words. "Harry." Her voice was louder this time as a flash of flame arose behind him Fawkes and Dumbledore were in the mirror. He could yell, but why bother, his parents would protect him. The glance he took to Dumbledore showed pure horror on the old man's face.

"Harry look away," Dumbledore added to Tracy's words. The girl had gone silent. She had the sense to stay away from the mirror, from him and his family, the ones who would always keep him safe. Dumbledore tried to say something again, but his words no longer reached his ears. His father though, the faint 'I love you' resonated in Harry's ear.

The professor moved, his wand commanding the dreadful cloth from the floor and trapping the mirror again. With a flick, Harry's own wand was in his hand ready to attack the aged man with all the power he could muster, but before the wand could point at him Dumbledore's voice called out. "Harry Potter stop."

He only spoke three words. Dumbledore did not wave his wand. Yet, the authority in which he spoke froze every limb on Harry's body, magic commanded with only words halting any attempt to further move.

"Dumbledore, if you don't let me go."

"Be silent, be still." Like water rushing through him, his body followed the orders.

"Miss Davis, while it pleases me to see you have not peered into the mirror it was foolish for you to come here today, I will subtract 10 points from Slytherin for your misconduct and assigning detention."

Her voice was reserved, all energy depleted. Her quiet response held a sniffle inside, "I am sorry, Professor."

"What led you to this folly tonight? Why did you come to this room?"

"Professor, Harry was acting strange all day. He appeared overly tired, I have never seen him tired, so I got worried about him. Then he kept coming here, well to the hall outside. Professor, it was odd. Whenever we passed here, he stared at that door, but all I wanted was to run. It scared me to be near the door like all I wished was to be as far from it as possible."

"But Harry, he kept coming here, kept coming back. So, when we returned to our common room, I quickly left and hid near this door, to watch for Harry. I didn't see him, but the door opened so I fought through the fear and opened the door. He was just standing there, staring so intently. I tried to talk to him, I yelled at him professor and he did nothing, only stared at the mirror." She was crying. Good, she ruined everything. "Then you arrived in a flash of fire."

Dumbledore's eyes dropped from the anger, the fire and brimstone, to a kind sadness. "I will revoke the detention Miss Davis, it appears you only came with the intentions to save a friend, for that feat I will award fifteen points to Slytherin. But please, next time tell a teacher, you are not responsible for the actions of your classmate, or your friend." A sly grin settled on his face, "Walk back to your common room now, I have to deal with your friend here. If you get caught, I never found you."

"Will Harry be alright, sir?"

"He will, but you can visit him in the hospital wing tomorrow."

Her loud shuffling made it a wonder she evaded capture sneaking here today. When the heavy door closed behind him Dumbledore still made no attempt to talk to him, probably too ashamed for taking Erised away. The old man reached and grabbed the cloak, eyes full of longing directed at the cloth, then returning to the covered mirror holding an even more somber and haunted look.

"Fawkes, could you take Mr. Potter to my office." The creature gripped Harry's shoulder, the long talons gripping tight against his skin and burning the affected area with cold flame as a beautiful crimson fire flashed around him, the hottest sensation Harry had found yet it did not burn him as grease or heated metal. Once the inferno retreated Harry's surroundings no longer were the room holding Erised, instead the familiar office of Dumbledore greeted his vision. Harry attempted to escape once the grip of the phoenix left his shoulder, but the door to the office did not budge at his touch, no matter the force he pushed with the door held firm. His shrill screaming did nothing to open the door either.

A lifetime of pounding and yelling opened the door eventually, though the escape route had an old man preventing him from scrambling back to the mirror. Dumbledore appeared worn, with heavy bags resting beneath his blue eyes, the wrinkles on his face pulled on his face in ways never seen by Harry before. The low flickering lights of the entrance painted a villainous face, the kind man Dumbledore usually displayed disappeared under stress, disappointment, and anger. Dumbledore's knotted wand sat comfortably in his right hand with the silvery cloak draped over his left. Alohomora, that spell may have worked to open the door. The motion of Alohomora was a circle with a strike through, with more power being pushed through with an added twist, going with whatever lock you wanted. Harry always thought the spell acted as a magic key, defining the area, and inserting and twisting a key.

With his mind focused on the spell, the demanding pressure of looking for the mirror diminished slightly, the driving need closer to a burning desire. The look on the professor's face also fell, the kind man returning, driving back the villainous face. "You have been reading the book?"

"Un léger" (A slight).

"Close, but try 'un peu'. That is how I would say a little."

"Thank you, sir."

"Why don't you sit, how was your flight with Fawkes?" He moved from the entrance to his desk. Erised. He could make it; his route would be easy. He would stop you. Five meters, tops.

"It was amazing sir, Fire surrounded me, but did not burn. Also, I teleported, and it didn't hurt." Teleportation was something that still haunted Harry's nightmares. Harry wished for Erised, she would keep the nightmares away, always.

"Harry, why don't you come sit down. There is no reason to leave already." His eyes returning to the present saw Harry at the door to the headmaster's office, ready to leave. Something was messing with his mind. He needed to see Erised to clear his mind from the confusion. "Harry, please shut the door and come here." He cleared his mind, pushing the desire, the lust, the confusion, all of it away, and sat opposed to the headmaster. The blue eyes glistened with the wary emotion searching over his body.

"I am sorry, sir, I just think we should have this conversation somewhere else."

"You mean before the mirror, do you not?"

"That is exactly what I mean, professor, everything makes more sense there. You will see."

"Harry I too have looked in that mirror, which you call Erised, I have seen the depths of despair and trickery that thrice dammed enchantment has caused great men to fall to. I do not wish it upon you, you must not seek it out again."

"But sir, I saw them, they were there, with me. Maybe, together, we can free them, to bring them out to be with me again."

Tears formed in the headmaster's eyes, "Harry."

"I promise I will work hard professor; I will do everything I can to get them out and free. But I need the mirror for that."

"Harry," he tried again.

"They were their professor, talking to me. I could almost hear them. If we go, I am sure they will tell me. Together we can save them, Headmaster."

"Please, Harry."

"Headmaster, we can do it."

"Your parents are dead Harry; no magic can see that undone." Harry stopped his pleading. The headmaster's eyes bore a resemblance again to a sapphire, though because of the stony look of indifference that painted his features rather than his crystal blue.

"But I saw them, they were there, with me."

"I know, Harry, nothing but a lie. A trick made by that forsaken magical mirror to trap victims for eternity."

"You are lying."

"No, I am not."

"You are." He stood.

"You know I am not Harry." The headmaster rose with Harry. "I wish James and Lily back as well; I would sacrifice myself in an instant if it were to bring even one of my friends back." His voice dimmed, the whisper floating over the silent office, Fawkes was nowhere to be found. "The mirror is nothing but falsehoods, a tool to steal life from those who gaze upon it."

"Headmaster."

"My boy, you are smart. You know what you feel is unnatural." He pleaded, placing his hands on his desk, and leaning on the oaken structure for all the support it could muster.

"I know." Harry's response was quieter still. "That does not reduce the wish to make it reality, does it? To look in the mirror as truth? Something that can be?"

"Harry, some things may never be, the mirror shows that. Not only the deepest desire you have, the thing you wish to bring forth with every part of yourself, but an impossibility, or else why would you sit before it?"

The Holidays.

In the hospital wing, the pair sat in silence. After a session with Madam Pomphrey, she left the two in peace. As soon as the matron left sight, the headmaster brought forth his pipe from the endless confines of his multicolored robe and lit it, looking like a child hiding from his parents. The waning moon lit the white hall, the pale tint rolling over the sheets making them dance like a ghost from the wind from the window.

"My parents loved me, right?"

"Yes, they did." The headmaster was the oldest-looking man Harry had ever seen, aged beyond measure of time. He joined the dancing sheets when he spoke, his pale features indistinguishable from the frail cotton.

"You said the mirror showed an impossibility, they loved me in the mirror I am sure."

"They loved you, the mirror taunted you with that love. It is only impossible because you cannot be with them as you are now. That being alive."

"What do you see?"

"That is a very personal question." He aged further. A man already in his grave sat and talked with Harry.

"And one which you know my answer."

"You are not doing a good job at respecting your elders." The clock rewound upon him as a smile graced his face.

"I am starting my teenage rebellion phase." Harry returned his smile, the first since separating from Erised.

"You are eleven, thus not a teenager."

"I am mature for my age."

The headmaster laughed, "You are the shortest child in your class, and probably next years too."

"Details."

They soaked in the laughter, defusing the situation.

"My sister," he whispered.

"You have a sister."

"In the same way you have parents, I also have a brother."

"I am sorry for your loss, sir, what happened to her?"

"That is tactless."

"Sorry, sir."

He paused, "Are you sure you wish to know, it is a long story and may change how you see me."

"I will not be sleeping tonight, and I doubt you will leave me be."

"Correct as always Harry. To begin with, her name is Ariana, and she had the most beautiful singing voice…"

The Holidays.

When the matron entered the hospital wing the next day both residents were awake and lucid and the Matron had bags of tiredness under her eyes and tear streaks. The doors burst open.

"Harry Potter, you have some explaining to do." Tracy Davis had arrived.


	17. Chapter 16: The Villain of the Story

**Chapter 16: The Villain of the Story**

**AN: Long time no see everyone. I picked up a follower about a week ago and felt I owed him an update. School is back in session and doing that and work is quite taxing on my time. Adding in a social life and my writing time is gone. I am sorry it is short but I felt I owed you all to get it out as soon as I could. So, after a month and a half of waiting I grant you a new chapter. This is a personal favorite chapter of mine, not because it is well written but because it is a time jump. And Harry did not even need to be unconscious for this one! As I said before I don't think I will finish year one without crossing 100K words, but this does give me hope, as it is only 4000 words this chapter with only one or two mini-arcs remaining. To be honest I had the first 1000 words done about a month ago. Then I struggled for the next 300 for something like 5 hours. But then once I got to, well, the beginning of the end of this chapter I was able to write it in an hour, 2000 words of nothing but fun stuff to write. **

**To Tracy fans I apologize, you will not like this chapter. She will be back I swear. **

**Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think!**

Again, to all of my readers, I need a beta. I think it would have helped with the flow of the beginning of this chapter quite a bit.

Crystals fell from the heavens, yet Harry sat in warmth. Surrounding him, the sounds of hundreds of voices in constant chatter filled the Great Hall with life absent from it only weeks before. The carriages, upon arrival, brought with them a glow to the old castle. Halls which before chilled and stalked him called for him and wrapped him in a safety net.

While the castle had returned to its loving nature, a strain had consumed a relationship.

The headmaster possessed no fault for the situation. No, the pair had grown closer because of the midnight mirror experience, a kinship that spanned the age gap between the colorfully dressed man and his meek follower. Instead, his similarly aged relation was being tested and tempered in an unfamiliar environment, a chilling one.

Tracy had left him.

He couldn't fault her, in fact, he always saw it coming. Her happy and bright smile never belonged to him; he borrowed it from another. He was a stopgap, a tool to be used to fill an emotional hole left behind of someone worthy of her time and affection. A glow had returned to his kind friend, one absent in his company. An understanding between the brunette and her oldest friend.

Daphne Greengrass.

She had left Tracy like garbage. Abandoned her with barely a hint of care for what it did to her psyche. Then when she returns, she acts as nothing happened. She smiles and waves. They hug and talk. After a day for him, nothing. Again alone.

Greengrass was a pretty girl. Her platinum hair shined in the darkest hallways and her blue eyes looked akin to the ice that marked the black lake currently. He could swim in them effortlessly if every time he looked at her a glare did not meet his gaze. She was slender and tall, just shy of Zabian in height. Greengrass only smiled when she talked to Tracy, and even then, when it appeared, she quickly quenched it in favor of stoicism.

Harry hated her. The kind Tracy had been scared from the blonde's abandonment. The false friendship she formed with him gave hope for the next day. A hope unbefitting of him. He hated Daphne for hurting Tracy, a light in his darkest of day. Harry hated Daphne for her return ripped it away.

The nights passed and still; he did not talk to Tracy. She was with Greengrass constantly to the point where he did not try anymore. He lost her.

Classes resumed as normal, the tight run schedule returned in full force as the hordes of students wondered from learning center to learning center, mindlessly learning the rules and tips that the professors mindlessly professed. The magic surrounding him became mundane, the world was boring again. He fell in line, moving as one with the crowd.

Harry missed the holidays. Currently learning more in the library than in the classes. There he could study anything to his heart's content. He missed the freedom to wonder the hours away, instead, the world restricted him with inches of writings on subjects he understood yet could not accomplish.

He knew the spell for turning a glass into a wooden cup. Complete understanding the formula, the Latin, the intent, the push sat at the forefront of his mind. He could write another eight inches on the history of its use, but the spell would not work. Pain greeted him in response to the trial.

The pain was no longer limited to the physical.

Malfoy still teased him, though he was the only one. He still called him a Mudblood, a squib, useless. Nott had stopped his teasing, though. Instead, fear shown in his eyes every time he saw them, accompanying the word killer. Pansy avoided him to such a degree that sitting on the same side of the house table pained her too much.

The worst was Daphne still.

She talked about him in hushed voices to Tracy. The entire time only one thought ruled her frozen eyes, murderer.

Perhaps that is why Tracy stopped talking to him. Maybe Daphne convinced her he was too dangerous.

For he was. Harry was a murderer.

He killed Hermione.

He would kill Tom Riddle.

The fresh year brought Harry new ambition, a reason to belong to Slytherin. Tracy abandoning him had left all he needed behind, the humanity he needed to complete his task with her. He would kill again, the person who killed his parents, ruined his life, and tore it from him. Tom Riddle would die.

The fact he was dead ruined that, though.

But was he dead?

No.

How did Harry know?

He just did.

The Villain of the Story

Draco really was an arse. With winter still falling over them, he found the time to attack Harry at every corner, with words, not magic. Magic would get you in trouble at this school, disobeying a teacher would get you suspended, calling you a squib in front of Professor Kettleborn got you fifteen points for Slytherin for cleaning trash.

It was worse because Malfoy could back up his little boast, as he was by far the best caster in their class. Whenever a professor asked Malfoy to demonstrate a spell, he succeeded the first time, every time. He held confidence he could, a bleeding desire to be the best in the room.

Harry wished he could fade into the background and no longer exist.

Throughout the year people always stared, their eyes would say "the-boy-who-lived." Everywhere he went they would follow, poised to strike, and destroy him with the phrase. Now they had a different word on the off chance his concentration slipped (he was trying to stop the Legilimency, as Professor Dumbledore had called it) he instead saw fear and a new word, murderer.

He was a murderer; it is why she left him.

He killed Hermione. He killed the Troll.

The Villain of the Story.

His Dark Arts class had been different in the new year, more so than any other class. Quirrell appeared to be a different person, whereas before he was kind and joking, now he was more skittish, more concerned. He tried to continue joking in class, but often his jokes fell short now. Quirrell spent more time looking at Harry, a curiosity different from his previous look. What is worse is every time he turned his back Harry's scar burned with enormous pain. His tolerance from the Dursleys was the only thing that prevented him from screaming out every time it happened. He learned almost nothing in that class anymore. The death of his mother accompanied the class, her screaming death, her flashing ruins, and Tom Riddle.

Every class the feelings fought him, his burning scar pushing the negative emotions forward. Hate his classmates, hate his magic, hate his world, hate himself.

For he was a murderer.

He killed Hermione. He killed the Troll. He killed his mother.

He still heard the screams.

Time was again bleeding. Its mundanity pushed him ever forward. Harry again found solace in the library, pouring his anxiety and hope into the study of magic. He learned the theory, reading beyond his first year, and into the second, reference after reference he read instead of going back to his dorm.

Tracy was in the dorm.

Tracy had left him.

Nothing in his books found a case like his, for squibs could never hope to do the task of magic that Harry had displayed throughout his life. Apparition, impossible. Legillimency was a magic never able to be done by squibs, yet Harry did it unconsciously to where constant repression scarcely stemmed the mind from grabbing onto every passerby. With knowledge of what he did, it only became easier to do, restraint became harder and harder with every passing day.

He was a monster.

The passing months continued. They played Quidditch in the snowy pitch, children bickered in the halls. Days passed and cards fell, showing an unclear future, marked with a wheel and a high priestess.

Loneliness with Alistair as his only companion fettered away at the frost as the lake reemerged. Dreams passed by in nightmare wrenching conditions.

Tracy still had not spoken to him.

The school had loosened its hold upon him. Faces that used to hunt for him at meals and in the halls no longer searched for him. The eyes he met no longer held wonder, nor fear, nor the-boy-who-lived. Instead, his life was treated as indifferent.

His new lifestyle was significantly better than the one the Dursleys provided him. A life that held no fear of seeing tomorrow.

It failed when compared to the life provided by the Christmas holiday.

He missed Tracy, but her sun had returned. With it, his own disappeared.

Of course, she left him.

He was a murderer.

He killed Hermione. He killed the Troll. He killed his mother. He killed his father.

In class, he heard Tom Riddles taunts.

In class, he heard his mother scream.

Dumbledore was often busy. The Wizgamont returned to session. Debates over laws past and present repeated in the newspaper every day. He wondered why the headmaster did it. In his returns to the school, Dumbledore always appeared tired and worn. His crystalline eyes which often surged hope for Harry left him hollow instead. Why did Dumbledore work so hard when it left him so empty? The paper often wrote of him in a poor light; why did he continue to help those who hated him so?

Dumbledore was stronger than Harry could hope to be. Sacrificing his wellbeing for those who so callously leave him behind was something Harry could never do.

Hagrid anchored Harry from the wisp of life. His hut became a fortress for Harry to escape to when the castle he lived in became too overwhelming to bear. The school flowed, carrying the worthless masses upon it crashing over him in an uncaring tide. At the end of the week, however, Hagrid would be there, rock cakes and tea ready with stories of his parents or tales of creatures looming in the hidden places of the world waiting for his ears. Hagrid had a way of making the pain evaporate. The loneliness dissipates. Life's woes erode.

The first week of April brought with it a novel experience.

When Harry arrived at the hut, it appeared empty. The smoke from the stack did not dissipate above the hut, for inside no fire burned. Instead, the shelter on the edge of the forest loomed as dark as the labyrinth behind it, as cold and uncaring as the sea that lay just beyond.

Should he turn back?

Should he wait for his friend?

Should he even have a friend?

He was a monster. A murderer.

The forest hummed its unnatural tune. A silence that beat like a heart and screamed with a sound unheard. Inside things moved, insects crawled, and beast hunted. Yet, to him it called, beckoned him forth. The cold and uncaring spring held above a clear sky, a moon waning from a reading not too long ago. His present was an uncaring four of cups, and the high priestess overlooked his future. His past was shrouded in death. Loneliness followed him, and the unknown plots continued to pulsate around him. A wake of those precious few lay behind him.

The moon barely penetrated the surface of the sea that he waded. When he had entered laid lost to his mind. Alastair made the trip with him, a weight in his pocket which kept him sane. His yew wand collected the light from above, matching the pale glow as he silently stepped through the trees. They loomed overhead like giants, with him as the meal. Underfoot twigs snapped below his mass, though the cracks never met his ears.

Things moved in his peripheral, though never revealing themselves to him. They stalked him, watching closely for a stumble, watching closely for any weakness. His blood ran cold as the air around, a stagnant thing that held death and decay. The forest housed a rot that penetrated the very air, trapping that which cannot be held in its horrid vice.

Something grew in the rot. A symbiotic relationship between the forest and the species that grew. One of the nameless things watching him was an arachnid, black as the shadows and as malicious as his dreams. It was an uncaring thing; it saw nothing wrong with eating him, for he was nothing but a meal to it, it and its brothers.

He continued his march.

Every step he took more and more followed, the creatures of rot never moving in for the kill, for even as his blood froze his wand stayed firm in his hand.

They feared the wand. It gave him power they did not possess. In the forest of death and rot, stagnation and despair, his wand cut through it all with hope and life. It hid him from the predators of the wood by wrapping the very nature of their shadows into his own cloak.

A sound cut through the wood, dispelling the hush of the leafless grove around. The spiders fled from the sound, scurrying back from whence they came as the clap of hooves over the soft wood echoed around.

It drew closer, stopping Harry from moving, the white protector still gripped. The distinct sound moved in matching pace with his own beating heart. It entered through a gap in the trees. The second he saw it hope grew eternal.

Pure white with a glow matching the moon, the unicorn stood proudly. A horse which called forth goodness in the world of evil, light in the darkness, stood proud and strong before him. It came to him, unfazed by his dark soul. The pure innocence did not understand his burden, the sink which pulled hope from him every day. It was a massive thing, he could walk below it without needing to duck. Its horn protruded forth long as his arm into the sky above. It welcomed him to touch, to brush against the silk which lay on it, a smooth cloth which held no equal in softness.

As he watched it, the horse met his eyes. He called forth his mind to read what it thought.

It pitied him.

The creature of goodness before him pitied his nature, pitied the dark which he ever fought. It pitied his soul, which he knew to lay fractured within, and tried to fill the gap with hope. The unicorn also held a sadness, though not for him alone. It had a task, one which Harry needed to follow him in order to complete.  
As they walked together, he flexed his magic. His wand glowed just as the unicorn walking on his other side.

If this creature of goodness could forgive him, could he forgive himself?

Harry tried to save Hermione. The troll was a monster. How could he fault his parents for trying to save him?

The moonlight cascaded into an opening of the wood. Trees parted for a small pond in the black forest. The unicorn trudged forward to the lakeside, lapping at the drink. Harry partook as well. The water ran clean, free of the taint of malice the woods portrayed. It reflected the light above showed the depths of the empty pool, none lived in the transparent waters, no brush made its way within. The lake was like a child's soul, completely devoid of taint. As they left, the forest would reclaim it, turning it black, but for now, the unicorn kept the evil at bay.

They continued.

What if his wand had a piece of a unicorn? The pure soul that protected him now; would it protect him always? Instead of the demiguise that lay within his yew; would the hair of this majestic beast serve him more?

His wand disagreed with his thoughts.

While the unicorn held back his pain now, what would only a piece accomplish? Did the power of this majestic beast come from one hair alone?

Instead, housed within a canister of yew, a kind profit waited to be used. A beast of foresight and illusions to wade through life in the best way possible. That is what his wand was, not hope, but a compass to grant direction. Not a shield, instead a distracter to turn away the gaze of man and monster. His companion matched the contents of his soul and would get along with his cards and book.

A unicorn would reject such a disgusting thing as the gate upon the first meeting.

The demiguise understood the necessity.

They continued in the looming woods.

Eventually, they arrived. Their destination was a place more gruesome than the rest of the woods combined. In the depths of despair, his mind showed him when he closed his eyes to rest he did not see an evil as large as that before him. The darkest of the dark he witnessed in the pits of hell, bitter chill and gruesome hot, could not compare to the discomfort that lay before him. His companion moved to nudge the sight, an obvious sadness that needed no mind reading to see. A sight so brutal that even the purest of creatures cried at the sight.

The unicorn stood over one of its own. The bowels lay strewn on the ground in a circle, all too familiar. Egyptian ruins spelled with the entrails of the pure horse laid the foundation for the ritual that was performed here. The silver blood of the unicorn still leaked from the pure beast, though the everlasting glow was nowhere to be seen, instead it ran tainted with black sludge. An evil greater than much on earth had been performed here recently. The murder of one more innocent than a child. A creature of goodness, erased for a selfish desire. The blood which sustained it consumed as an exchange for life.

His book spoke of this ritual, he could perform it.

Except he couldn't.

To kill an innocent being, to sacrifice humanity. His companion looked back with its solemn eyes. Bringing its head down it kneeled accepting the hug of Harry. The duo cried the night away, a loss the world did not require finally mourned.

The morning sun loomed through the trees budding in the new light, a ray striking the unmarked mound of dirt. His robes were ripped, and his hands were raw. Mud caked over his every inch as the duo watched in silent prayer to anyone who cared to listen. His muscles ached and his eyes were heavy, but the forest would not break him. A resolve was born again. He made a new friend. A creature of good trusted him enough to ask for aid. The sound of hoofbeats grew again, earning his attention for but a moment. That moment was all that was needed for his new friend to again disappear into the sea of trees which it called home, a lonely lamp in the endless dark.

The new creature was taller than his old companion, with fur a rustic brown. It had the body of a horse with a man fused instead of a head held a bow ready to kill. The head was neanderthalic with a bundle of facial hair curling into a beard.

"Trespasser," his voice spoke low.

Behind him, a half dozen reinforcements also arrived.

Before Harry could speak it saw the ground behind him.

"Murderer."

"No, I..."

"Bane," an unfamiliar voice arrived. Another centaur rode before him, slighter than the first. "You would accuse this child of the evil?"

"He is the cause."

"You cannot believe that."

"You see his soul, as do I. He is tainted. A monster. Ridding him is the will of the heavens."

"You cannot believe the heavens would wish for a child to perish."

"Pluto displayed itself last night."

"It was morning," Harry cut in. Both centaurs stopped and stared at him, expressions wide.

"Did you not see last night, veiled by the pale moon, the king cried. Upon his throne, the Greek trembled with sadness. The passing planet disappeared as it came, welcoming a pure heart to Elysium."

"This child speaks as if he knows the stars," Bane addressed him.

"You are foolish," Harry chastised the looming figure, turning his confusion into aggression again.

"You dare."

"Of course, I dare. You who presume to understand the sky. You are foolish if you believe you understand. The sky above is not written for you, nor is it written for me. It is. We struggle and claw to understand its message, but the language we can never understand. How can you hope to claim the skies condemn me when I could just as easily persuade it to read in favor of you?" By the end of his rant, Harry was confused. Astrology was never a subject that interests him for divination in his youth. Now, in Hogwarts, taking it as a class had nothing to do with the magic it provides, just pointless memorization of constellations as time passed. Where had acquired this knowledge? How did he know what he knew?

The second centaur laughed, "He has got you there, Bane."

Bane lowered his weapon, confusion in his eyes. "Child, how did you acquire your knowledge?"

"That is what I don't know."

Before Bane could further address the issue, the slender one spoke again, "Child, I am Firenze. Of those in my heard, I am the closest to the winds, the strongest listener, the sharpest seer."

"I am Harry Potter; it is good to meet you Firenze. Bane." He addressed each with a half bow.

"What has happened in my wood," A new arrival appeared. Larger than Bane and older than Firenze. Bane opened to speak but was cut off from the attempt by Firenze.

"A nexus has arrived, Ronan. One who has fate singing and fay reeling. A child whose by living defies the will of nature. A tainted one without losing that which is dear."

"What has brought him here?" Though the response was spoken to Harry's defender the target way himself.

"An act of evil that needed attention," Harry responded.

"That being?"

"A unicorn slaughtered in exchange for life. Losing basic fulfillment for prolonging of a hellish continuum. Whoever drank of the blood will no longer be able to quench thirst, who ever feasted on the flesh will never rid hunger. They will sleep and always feel exhausted for the crime they committed." He remembered the passage. The rite so vile the gate tried locking it away.

"I see," Ronan responded. In his eyes, Harry saw he did.

"You know much, child," Bane had drawn the bow again, threatening to aim it at Harry.

"It haunts him," Ronan responded, gesturing for Bane to put the weapon away.

"It is necessary," Firenze added, "The nexus must hold knowledge if he is to defy until the end."

"Who did this?" Harry questioned.

Bane responded, "We saw a wraith fleeing the day before last,"

"It fled to the castle," Firenze added.

"We must stand vigilant against this monster," Ronan began, "We must call for aid from the trees to defend our home. We cannot tolerate this sin." He stopped addressing his group and looked to Harry again, "Child of fate, blessed by the stars. An evil walks the halls of your home. Seek it out and end it as only you can. We shall hold our home, protect that which cannot protect itself, we need you to protect that which is precious forever."

"I will try. How can I? I cannot even cast magic."

"You cannot use the magic that your classmates can. You have a different path before you. I will escort you from our home, fate will guide you." Firenze took hold of his arm and lifted him onto his strong back.

"Goodbye, Bane. Goodbye, Ronan."

"Goodbye child, blessed by summer," Ronan called out as Firenze rode away.


	18. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**Wow, guys. Look at the time, only a week out and I have a new chapter out. **

**I had a passing in my family this week and as a result, avoided my feelings with a bit of writing. **

**No, I am not abandoning the story, but I was very much done with first year. **

**From here on out we will be done with first year, after establishing so much I can finally play in this sandbox I made. Thus, an epilogue. We will be learning what happened to Harry later, during the upcoming summer vacation arc, we will have a lot of time to spend in Harry's mind. **

**It's short and very crisp, but I do not see myself improving on this chapter any time soon. **

**Please review. I do love to get those reviews; they make me feel good. As always, I need a beta, I think this chapter will show that more than most. **

**Also, congrats to myself. I wanted the year done in less than 100K words and did just that. Who cares if I only missed the mark by a few thousand? **

**Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think!**

Another year had passed. Like the year before, the work only began from here. Paper after paper, parchment after parchment, all fell to her gaze and signature. Her rejection or approval. The stoic frown which plastered her face came from more than just the meaningless task and mundane work she currently fell into.

No, instead it came from the kerfuffle that was the end of the year.

The final months of the year always corresponded with a fast-paced life. Projects, papers, and tests hounded after her students and clogged the study rooms of the school. Not to mention many students trying to find relief from stress in, other ways.

Honestly, she enjoyed finding the ones who chose to go the route of herbology and potions rather than the students who made time to inspect the cleaning supplies for the school in pears.

There was a limit to people partaking in these activities, and that was thirteen years after graduation.

Not four years till it.

But this year was different, for the biggest problem was not the third years, nor the substance policy of the school being broken.

It was an attack.

Someone breached the school and attacked that which she was supposed to protect. A monster had hidden as a lion among sheep and played them all a fool. A wolf who wore the cover of a sheep had tried to kill a small and sickly lamb.

And it was all the fault of Albus Dumbledore.

Her one-time teacher, mentor, and finally friend had laid the groundwork for the mess of madness that had gone down in the last month of school. It was upon his shoulders and his shoulders alone that the worst-case scenario had almost occurred. He was the sole person responsible for the mess.

Yet could she blame him?

Yes.

Albus Dumbledore was more than a man, he was a figure, an immortal being of good. He was the wall against the monster of Nurmengard, and unshakable fortress defending the west from the expansion of tyranny. A stalwart castle against the monstrous head of the Knights of Walpurgis. He always shone with pristine excellence, his every action moved the world to more good, he only did things that would be best for the world.

Albus Dumbledore never made mistakes. He was perfect.

A disgusting illusion that she and the rest of her countrymen shared.

A disgusting illusion that cracked and fell when he ran up, clutching that child in his hands.

Harry Potter was always a small child, as opposed to his father who stood as tall as any in his class. He shared neither James's wit nor Lily's care. He was utterly pragmatic whenever she saw him, but her discussions with him, telling him of his parents, were one of her greatest joys of the year.

In the arms of Albus, he looked like the infant that had been left on the door of that muggle home so many years ago.

Albus for his part looked utterly defeated.

He was an immortal, he never aged nor grew, yet in that moment he looked as ancient as his age implied. Bags draped below his eyes, which shattered with horror, desperate to hold on to something. What, he did not know. His limbs shook as if he carried a mighty load despite the child in his arms weighing less than a few tomes. The shoulders which always stood proud and firm instead drooped and cascaded to his chest, but worse was his eternal smile. The everlasting hope of wizards everywhere had dried like rain in a desert.

Before her was not the immortal Albus Dumbledore, it was a broken human.

"Albus" she wondered.

"Quickly Minerva, no time to explain. We need to get to the hospital wing."

"Albus, what happened to him?"

"Minerva, I will explain after we get him to Pomphrey. There is no time to waste."

So, she had gone with him. Taken the child from his arms. He was so small, too small to be a student in the school. Now, she could see his face; what a horrifying thing it was. She had seen people take the cruciatus curse before, but to perform it on a child? Who could be evil enough to do this?

His face was so broken, the streaks of tears eroded away the skin around his eyes. His arms were cut and bruised, and despite his sleep, he shook in her arms.

"Somethin' has been killing the unicorns" Hagrid had said at the last meeting. Something had been killing unicorns. Only a few faces seemed to care when he had said that she not being one of them. What use was worrying over what happened in that forsaken forest do, some beast was killing another beast. What bother was it to her school?

Only Severus, Quirinus, and Albus had shown any reaction to the news that the half-giant had brought. Though maybe this was because of the anger most of the staff held for the man. He was good-natured, but keeping a dragon on campus, not to mention with his history, the fact that they still employed him was hours of paperwork on her part. He never learned the danger of his pets, the danger they posed the school.

Only Severus, Quirinus, and Albus saw the true nature of his words. Only those three had begun the manipulation necessary to stop that evil. A dark creature was begging at the walls of Hogwarts, hoping to topple them, and it appears that on this night it had.

Was the target the small boy in her arms? The Headmaster?

She had too many questions and the only one capable of answering was panting and barely keeping up with her.

He was always strong; he could run with a quidditch team if he desired.

Albus could not match her pace.

She reached the doors to the hospital wing well before him, her magic answering her call and swinging open the overlarge doors. With a shout for the Matron, she laid the tiny boy on the nearest bed.

She shambled over, robes hastily were thrown on, and lacking her normal hat. "What has happened to him?" Her wand was in hand as she spoke a complex Latin phrase, one which illuded the older witch.

"I do not know. Albus is behind me and knows more, but I think I saw signs of the Cruciatus."

"No," The horror writ on her face matched the one McGonagall felt. "Upon a child?"

"Yes," a wheezing voice joined from the door. Albus stood, leaning upon the frame with eyes of torment. "I also believe it possessed him."

"What could have done this?" She questioned as Pomphrey hounded different vials from her cabinet and chanted broken words that should not be uttered in this world to counter the dark magic the child had suffered.

"As I feared, the beast from the forest did it."

"The one killing unicorns?"

"Yes."

"How did you do nothing to stop this?" Her voice carried into the empty halls, with malice she didn't know unleased upon her mentor.

"I did not take it seriously enough."

"How did it enter the castle?"

"It had help, the one thing that I did not plan for."

"You not planning for something?"

"Yes." The statement came out as a croak, levels below her own voice. She knew the look he gave; she had seen it upon many pupils' faces before.

"Do you know which student let in the beast?"

"It was not a student."

"But you just sai" she was cut off before the word could complete.

"It was a professor." He broke more. After the first crack, she noticed how his entire form was due to collapse.

"When he fails, he fails brittlely." That is what Aberforth had told her in one of her visits to the head. "And when he fails, people get very hurt." She had dismissed the man out of believing it to be jealousy. Here was a man who could only run a pub. The rumor was he could not use magic. He even swept his store after patrons left. Of course, he was a jealous man, envious of his brother's prowess. Albus was a perfect man. A paragon of virtue. He had never failed. Not once.

"Who? Was it Severus? Did he escape?"

"It was Quirrell."

"Quirrell?"

"Yes, and he is dead."

"You killed him?"

"No," he gazed at the bead that Pomphrey tended to with his cracked sapphires. "He did."

Some time after, Albus left. Minutes. Hours. She lost count of them. His chest rose and fell, a soft rhythm proving he still lived. At some point, she had moved to his side, held his hand, gazed on his face.

It was James.

The features were softened, but she looked at James as he lay still. This James despite his frame was older. Her James had marks from his smile always on his face, however, the boy before her was always flat. James had warm skin kissed by the sky, this one had wrinkles already on his forehead, normally hidden away by his hair. And that scar, the red wound that marred his forehead, gazing at her in contempt on a pasty white canvas.

James was joyous, bringing smiles to every person in the room, always at the center.

She forgot that Harry was a student more than once while teaching him.

James had a childhood of ease and breezed through school. He would have achieved the top score if not for a certain woman who would go on to be his wife.

Harry, by contrast, was a failure at school. He had yet to transfigure anything in her class. If not for being at the school, she would have assumed him to be a squib. Until Halloween. Harry had seen his classmate die in a gorish bath, then used an unforgivable curse. He most likely used it again tonight, though this time not on a monster, but a human. He was eleven and looked a child younger. How could he have killed someone? How is it the only spell that he could cast be the most difficult to master, and also the most evil?

"Why was I not retrieved?" A silky voice drew her from her musing. "I am his head of house." His tone was brutally even. No inflection reached his voice. She turned to berate him, but the look in his eyes stayed her words.

His cool olive eyes were full of emotion. The normally blank look Severus strode the halls in changed to a panic. Fear emitted from those eyes, which normally told nothing.

All she could do is sleep. The exhaustion of the day finally met her as she left the boy in his head's care. As she left, she only had two more things on her mind.

Was Harry's toad always there? And were his eyes always red?

They canceled classes for the day. She had risen when the sun was already disappearing. Content to go to dinner with her exhausted appearance. Life went on.

Every student in the school sat in The Great Hall for dinner that night. Well, all but one. A lone Slytherin did not sit on his normal spot at the table, that being the back. The normally rowdy students were instead quiet. A low hum emitted from them, but it was in anticipation of words needing to be said.

Albus had reforged himself. He had taken the hammer to parts shattered and appeared the wizened wizard she had always known.

How foolish she was. He had manipulated her and the rest of the country into believing this lie. He stood proudly at the head of the hall, all the leader she remembered him being every day before last.

It was a show.

He was the world's greatest actor, so good he believed himself.

"Students of Hogwarts. I speak today with a heavy heart when I say Professor Quirrell is no longer with us."

His audiences gasped and reacted just how he wanted. The script he prepared moved flawlessly.

"A monster was hiding in our Forbidden Forest, a reason why we tell all to avoid it, and it entered the castle."

The children all wore the same face, the face of fear. A few even screamed.

"But we are lucky, our brave professor found it and purged it from the castle forever, but not without losing his own life." They all held wonder in their eyes. The brave sacrifice of their teacher to save them high on their minds.

All a lie.

Not only a lie, but it was also easy. He stood proud and waved his arms, holding grief for a man who harmed his student, saying the person was good. A joke, he was evil. He tried to kill a student.

One voice reached her from her spot to the speaker's left. In the entire hall, only one student voiced something she wished was said. How is it in a hall of over two hundred students how did only one ask the question she so hoped to hear?

"Where is Harry?"

The brunette which had spent time with Harry over the winter holiday spoke up, searching the table for him. Her companion stopped her from shouting it more. Smart. The fewer people who know he is involved, the better. Let the child rest and not have the attention of the school on him. He deserves at least that much.

"The monster managed to attack one student, however, but lucky for us Harry Potter is recovering well in the hospital wing. Also, all of Quirrell's classes will have their final examinations canceled."

The hall cheered. She doubted it was for the boy.

How had he tricked her so?

How did he lie so effectively?

How did he fool her?

Days later, the students left. They all got on the express and went home to their families. All but Harry. He still sat in the hospital wing, awaiting his awakening.

Hufflepuff had won the cup that year, both in quidditch and in the house cup. That boy Cedric Diggory despite being a third year was a wonder on his broom, already getting national attention for his ability to get after the snitch. Like every year, the Hufflepuff house had the least demerits to their name, allowing them to win. It was unfair how well that house kept itself together.

She had already begun the process of finding a new defense teacher, with dozens of applications sitting in her office ready to be picked over.

She should check on the boy again.

As she walked the now familiar path, she felt again for the boy. He did not even have a current address. He was still in his coma; what if he never woke?

Arriving at the door saw them open already. Inside, three men had gathered. Two older and one who liked as young as thirty. Albus, Aberforth, and another stood around his bed.

He was awake.

He animatedly talked with the three men, all of them spouting grins on their faces.

Did the Dumbledore brothers not hate each other?

He laughed and smiled and looked at Albus with sparkling eyes and wonder.

Did he not understand that that man is the reason he had gone through the pain? She found the records; she knew what his guardians did to him. When she found no home to send a missive two, she found the reason. His abuse. That was all on Albus. He did that to you Harry; how can you look at him with such a smile. Did he lie to you as he did to the school?

No.

The smile on Albus's face was not one he wore while acting. It was genuine and happy.

It was a look she had never seen.

She left them. She still had work to do.

Also, that toad's red eyes unnerved her.


	19. Act Two Chapter One: The Moon I

Act Two Chapter One: The Moon I

**AN: Yo folks, I am back. With year one reaching completion I have begun working on year two. I normally respond to reviews through PM's, but decided to try and get them here for you all. **

**The first being the most obvious I will continue posting on this story until the title no longer fits. At a point in the future I will have a chapter titled The Dawn. That is when I will transition to a new story. Until then the title is too fitting to think of a new one. **

**The one above is for BROMBROS and TheDragon2000.**

**To 0b5curu5: Leet speech takes me back. Nice name. Your praise is amazing and is really motivating to my work. I, of course, disagree that my work should rate highly but the fact you think it does means the world. This might be my favorite review ever for how much I smiled after getting it, though my first may just beat out. I hope that my continual works can continue to entertain you and that the standard never decreases in your eyes. An as for English, work hard. It is a language we all struggle with (I use three separate grammar programs before I release a chapter) and your attempt is not as bad as you believe. **

**Procrastinatey: I do try.**

**SentenialSlice: First off welcome to the show. I really love getting feedback on how I can improve so thank you for that. By transitions do you mean from one bit of time to the next? Would adding in line breaks like in my earlier chapters help with that? If so, I will go back and do that again. As to Harrys magic use, I am sad to say he will never be a duelist, his magic is not capable of that. I will warn you now if you wish to see BA Harry who can kill waves of faceless mobs with one spell this is not the story for you. I did fix his magic, so he has more control over it now, though how I have yet to reveal. Yes, this was planned from the beginning and not a copout. The magics I wrote in the summery of this story is the limit of what Harry can accomplish alone, but he will not be alone forever. **

**On to the normal spiel. **

**Please review. I do love to get those reviews; they make me feel good. As always, I need a beta, I think this chapter will show that more than most.**

**Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think!**

His new task illuminated itself in the visage of The Moon. The pale shadow to the warm sun, he now followed its sisters' path. A goal was hidden within XVII, his task to reach. He needed to find The High Priestess.

She stalked the halls, clinging to her darkness. The shadow gripped onto a once bright soul and brought forth the tendency. The month brought battle between the cobra and mongoose.

She visited the corridor called forbidden by the headmaster, somewhere he would not follow. For the guardian of death stood vigil over that place. He watched and waited for the shadow every day, wrapped in his father's legacy, and hidden from the shadow's gaze.

The shadow knew he watched it.

It watched back from the classes they forced him to attend, skipping only brought him before the garter snake which watched over him, a docile creature who many feared. Misunderstood by the masses, he barred his venomless fangs.

Yet, under the pale light he stalked, an opportunity to strike never showed. His transgression for the year had caught up to him. The warnings of his deck had been clear from the beginning. Find the plot.

He failed. He ignored the warnings in favor of enjoying his new life. Comfortable in a situation that needed his full attention.

Information, as young as he was, was his only combat choice, and he carried little of it around. He tried to enter the fight against a stronger and more prepared opponent in a battle of wits. It is no wonder he lost.

He called himself a mongoose, but in reality, his form was only a cobra. One with half the size and experience.

His days ran short, and Albus was away. The sinister shadow moved with greater urgency, capitalizing on the headmasters departure. He foolishly followed into the trap. With the quiet voice speaking 'imperio' aloud, he fell into the abyss of his own mind.

He watched his body move by strings, his thoughts breed from a mind not his own. The shadow gripped his will and exerted its own. All Harry could do was fall into his depths. Falling forever into the madness he created. Into a damaged place he hid from.

"Henri, wake up."

The sun had appeared. It shown through the window with curtains carelessly tossed aside. Stupid, if properly closed the previous night the morning greeting would not have come. A nice and calm morning instead of instant flash.

No use crying over spilt milk.

"Henri, wake up." The voice which called him seemed upset. Not as loud as Vernon, but the hidden rage still existed.

He swung his legs over the bedside and grabbed his enchanted glasses from the bedside table. He ruffled his blonde hair and draped the blue cloak around his shoulders. Henri Perior was ready to start his day. Opening to the outside world.

Only to be met with Dumbledore's cold blue eyes.

"Henri, why did it take so long?"

"Did you want me in the nude?"

He sighed, rubbing his eyes, "Get to work."

"Yes, sir." Henri saluted, a sight interrupted by poor posture and a teasing grin, and walked down the two flights of stairs.

The building that now stood as his temporary home was a five-story hotel smashed into the body of a two story pub. The outside perspective showed the first two stories as they were. They squished the upper four into the same existence. This resulted with the third floor maintaining the view of the second. If he opened a window would it show outside? If he jumped, would he descend from the third story or the second?

Magic that twisted space truly was the most incomprehensible and dangerous sort there was.

The building seemed ancient. With the wood beneath his feet baring old feel, a resonance of an age past. Countless forms had passed over the floor, each imparting a measure of memory into it. It hummed with magic. Magic which coursed through this building like blood, refreshing its defenses and standing stalwart against the world. The magical flow paled compared to Hogwarts, but it was comparing the moon to the sun in a competition for the brightest.

Truly a task made for a fool.

Henri entered the pub proper. A few patrons decorated the dining hall, watched by the clear blue gaze of Ariana. She appeared as beautiful as Albus described. The young woman danced through the field of flowers, a shy grin across her features. Her death stood as a sad story, a reminder of how no matter how much power and control you have, those close to you may die.

It can even be your fault.

But still you must move forward.

"Morning Ari," He called moving to the bar top. Her grin widened as she gave a massive wave in his direction. The prophet sat open on the top and he leaned back against the bar whilst reading its pandering pages. He hated the prophet. It lied constantly and sat as a propaganda machine for the ministry. Already, his reliable Carpe Diem Collective had been swallowed by the machine. They closed their doors, and the press turned forth more of The Daily Prophet. Calling it The Daily Prophet was a mockery of his future profession, a prophet tried to decipher the world and find its truths, whereas The Daily Mockery hid them and shouted lies into the void.

"Hey, kid, get me another German." A rough voice called from one of the darker corners of the pub. The bar, designed so the only windows were from the main street inward, invited the pub to be constantly lit by enchantments or fire.

"Why not a superior French make?" Henri said over his paper, not bothering to complete the asked task.

"You actually want me to feast on your kin?"

"It would mean you have taste, after all."

"Henri, quit harassing the customer and work. I pay you to take out the trash, not read it."

"Hear, hear." The man Henry was speaking to backed up the barman.

"Quiet Daywalker." Henri announced. Magic coursed and entered his words.

The mouth of the beast shut.

Henri did not know when the yew had jumped into his hands, nor when he allowed his authority to enter his voice.

It was a new thing she showed him, after all.

He hopped the bar and grabbed a wine bottle, turning off the seal which hummed its quiet tune, breaking the runic circle that wrapped the bottle in magic. Elder Futhark is the language the British forged most of the enchanted objects he encountered in. He disliked the proto-language; it paled in comparison to Greek and Egyptian in terms of complex language forms and was dwarfed in variety by his new language.

The circle he broke was one of preservation, of halting. It stopped the flow of time within the container.

Truly a dangerous magic. Could it hold something more? What could be held in a crypt with this? Having time unmoving within. Truly, the implications of such magic were terrifying.

Here it was used to keep blood from coagulating.

"Sorry, Necromancer," The Daywalker spoke. The power he held over their kind was frightening. Unlike men who walked the earth free of binding, the vampires were preserved over it. They were strung along the flow of time, but never allowed to move forward in it. From the instant of death they preserved the curse which stagnated their blood bonded them to the will of earth. What damage they took was taken back, for they never took it. The power came from the dark, the leach which tied them to their former soul. Alone the light of the sun could push back the shadow, solely the things grown in its splendor could halt their progress down the stream.

Someone holding a soul that existed in here and beyond, they had an authority over Daywalkers. Despite riding that stream, they could move in it. Despite seeing the beyond, they could interact with it. With that power, one could command the stream to a destination, paving an alternative path with magic.

So his book spoke in its hidden language, so she showed him when they spoke.

"No, Martin, I apologize." Henri spoke pouring the blood of a German into the stained glass, the patrons of the bar not caring as the cool red filled the cup. Replacing the seal and allowing the magic to course again through the bottle, he returned it to the bar. Meditation, control. He needed to be stronger, to not falter.

Behind the bar, he wiped down the filth that accumulated on the surface. The residue of shots needed more scrubbing than normal to get the grime from the antique wooden surface.

"Quit harassing my customers."

"Matin would never leave you Abe." Henri jested, pouring the old man a pint of a stout. Stouts early in the morning made dealing with the stress the blonde gave him all the easier.

"Out of there, kid. It's not polite." Aberforth spoke in French.

"Sorry, Abe," he averted his eyes. Staying out never got easier. Constant effort, constant exhaustion. For years he craved the human connection, to be close to someone. The desire always boiled beneath, always reaching and magic called to that desire. His magic understood his wants and responded, a nature it now held. Rather than calling forth magic, as they taught him at Hogwarts, instead he needed to learn how to prevent it.

"It's ok kid, I know it's hard. But, next week you are free."

He glanced at the calendar; had it been a week already? It was taking Nic two weeks to dissect the paperwork. The adoption papers took many documents that Nic had long ago sealed away. In the meantime, before the adoption would register, he was restricted to British soil. Thus, working at The Hogshead became his new hobby.

Albus had sent him here, his brother being the only one the man trusted him to. Despite their arguments the brothers had, Albus knew his brother's heart was pure.

Having Harry Potter working would be difficult, the negative attention of the boy would bring the papers to the pub and Albus fired from every position he had.

They could not afford that.

Thus, Henri Perior was born. The boy façade Harry had taken was a blonde who the year previously attended Beauxbatons. A Frenchman with blonde hair and green eyes. Also, he was dead. He was killed in the men's restroom of his school by a jealous classmate, one still hidden. His soul had resonated with Harry's own, a man of high quality, a talented mage, a good-hearted man.

A man Harry had lived through before. A man he had died through before.

She had opened the paths of his mind before he closed. She took the things he held in shadow and brought them to life. It allowed him to remember the pains he had left, the things he had seen.

Where she had healed his mind, Nic had helped his body. Though unintentional as it was, and with meddling of a certain familiar. The blockage of his flow had been resolved, the limp of his leg erased, the years of malnutrition reversed.

"Quit thinking and get a move on. If you clean those tables in twenty, I won't take breakfast out of your pay."

Thus, the meaningless wiping of tables started. Alastair jumped from his pocket and after Abe, hoping the senile fart would drop some food. Or perhaps the devil got along with Abe more than Henri hoped. What did that say for someone?

The Moon.

Today, the attending Auror and Hitwizard sat in the darkest corner of The Hogshead. A true feat in a bar specialized to creatures who thrived in the darkness. If only they catered to Acromantulas. It was insulting to him that the pair was more incompetent than yesterday's. They at least had the graciousness to act as proper patrons instead of watchful eyes.

"Please, can we not serve them?" He asked Abe in French. "They are too obvious, can't we punish them, just a little?" His pleading, while enunciated well, failed to reach his eyes. The answer he would surely get did not warrant the effort needed to truly plead.

"Kid, they are patrons here like any other. Their coin is the same as anyone else's." The man answered in kind.

"Their coin makes everyone else feel unconfutable, thus losing their business. They could at least be less obvious." He sighed.

"Would you rather have an increased pressure on this place? By allowing them to think they are good at what they do, the patrons know who they are. Both sides win. They can collect information and our patrons still have a haven."

"But…"

"No buts, just give them their drinks."

"Fine." He collected the bottle of honey rum and strode to the dark table. Past hags and vampires and other things the populists call dark. The people who called them dark did not understand the true depths of darkness that lived in this world. Demons and devils lurked in the minds of all things, creatures born of evil lived in the true dark places of the world, and wizards who corrupted the idea of life flourished below the sight of the blind. How could a vampire be called dark, but Henry could merge the thoughts of a soul upon himself and mimic its appearance? What was evil about a hag who needed the slight amount of human flesh once a month compared to himself who could manipulate the mind of most peoples he encountered without needing to use a wand?

With his arrival at the table, he tipped the bottle into the two glasses between the two men. Both were on the younger side of their respective departments, and both looked out of place. A glance at the man whose eyes flickered around the room, flickering at whichever noise was the loudest, saw him as the Hitwizard. First assignment and a racist as well. Sending him into a place such as this is a mistake. They should task this man with control and incidents, not espionage and creature relations. 'It's not polite' the kind voice of Albus brought him from his trance. The glass was full.

The Auror paid Henry more mind. He avoided the eyes of this one. That department was known for a basic training in mind intrusion. The team specialized in the aspects of the dark, which favored attacks based on the mind and emotional manipulation. A slip up on him would bring many questions onto Abe, something the bar owner did not deserve. James, Harry's father, worked for the department before his untimely death.

"A little young to be working here, aren't you boy." He asked through narrow eyes. In his week of work, never had he spoken a word to any officers on duty. The veterans to the fresh recruits all were too focused on being inconspicuous to dare traverse in conversation with one such as him. This one was cocky, and he just so happened to hit a button. An incorrect one on his behalf.

"Perhaps I am old enough to be your father?" The smart reply exited before Henri could hope to stop it. A mistake on behalf of Henri, though surprisingly true for Harry. Harry had lived through the souls of many. Experienced time in a way slower than most. His eleven years he walked over the earth paled when compared to the years he spent in the mind of those who would parish. Though the conclusion the Auror would take from his statement would bring more problems.

"You are no vampire, boy." He sneered. This one was also racist, only holding it back more.

"You are correct on that."

"You are too young to work here then." Truly impeccable logic.

"There we disagree."

"It is not a matter of agreement, more so of legality." Bravo, fantastic reasoning.

"What if I am a vampire? I could have been lying."

"I know you are not." Want a cookie.

"How?"

"No vampires are employed here." You sir, are excellent at your job.

"How do you know that?"

"Boy, you listen here." His voice had reached the level of a shout. It also brought a second mark. "The ministry should come right in and close this filth down. Why they haven't is beyond me." This man passed his stealth exam.

"Nothing here is illegal, sir," Henri spat the word as if a curse, "that I promise you."

"You are either a minor or a creature. This store does not have a creature license thus a minor working at a bar. The ministry will be here on my call and have this place boarded up within the night." During his declaration he had pushed back his chair, the wood scraping the old ground it stood upon. How long would it take for Abe to restore that? Perhaps Henry could try some minor alchemy to fix it. His eyes flickered back from the major problem of the floor to the minor inconvenience of a man overstepping his bounds.

"Section 14 of the right-to-work act. Passed in 1795. Do read that before you do something foolish."

"What was that, boy." That's three.

"Well before you do something rash and stupid, read that."

His face was red. Fury wrapped around him as a gale on its eye. "Boy, listen here." Four. Killing him would be kind.

"Any such person, meeting the criteria, is allowed to work within the place he is resident in." His French accent disappeared.

"I fail to see how this applies."

"Well, currently I am living in 302. As such, I am a resident in The Hogs Head. Furthermore, I have expressed permission from my legal guardian to work. Finally, I have no prior instances of poor behavior on my record. With all these things being true, which I guarantee they are, Auror." His appearance wore a glare and venom bled his words, "The Hogs Head employment of myself is within the realms of legality. Now, I should think you should leave, seeing as you gave up your cover the second you walked in the door. No one will say anything you could find interesting tonight. Do me a favor and never come back here, send one of your other chaps alright. They at least have the decency to not look at everyone like trash."

The Auror finally looked around the bar. From the horrified face of his partner to the evil grins of the patrons. The attention of the entire room was upon him and his exchange with the young employee. "Let's go Ben." He grabbed his travel cloak and dramatically wrapped it, glaring at the child his entire departure from the room.

"Ok Albert." His companion looked quick to follow.

"Don't forget to pay, Ben. I would hate to have to call a Hitwizard." Henri spoke through an enormous smile, but his eyes were showing his genuine feeling. "I also wouldn't mind a tip; I did give such excellent advice." The fleeing man tossed a small stack of silver on the table. Ben, the Hitwizard, was quick to follow the Auror out the door. "Pleasure doing business with you." Once the door closed drinks were ordered with fervor as the hall laughed and joked at the expense of the two. Albert. Albert would pay.

At the bar, a frown marred Abe's face, though his eyes mirrored the truth. "What did I say, child."

"He started it."

"That was unlike you, normally you would ignore it." Perched on the old man's shoulder, Alastair spoke. His voice resonated, but the hustle of the bar made the sound unnoticed besides the three present.

"He called me boy. That was reason enough."

A grinning toad was frightening to look at.

The Moon.

Separating Henri and Harry was an arduous task. While it took meditation and hard work to become Henri switching back to Harry took less time than a blink as his body remembered what it was, who it belonged too, and how to respond. This led to the obvious problem of impersonating a person of France as an Englishman, that being when the switch happens one tends to lose the accent.

Hopefully, the Auror and Hitwizard were not quick enough to pick up on that exchange.

Doubtful. Despite the pedestrian performance the two put on, they still were taught by the institution to pick up on small things such as that. The Auror especially should be trained for a situation nearing his own. It is a dangerous position to be in with magic like his when the Auror department takes notice of such a person. A single mistake and Azkaban prison will be the only home Harry would ever need; no amount of borrowed lives would change that.

The ministry hated dark magic, or any subject matter they determined to be dark magic. Divination is a school of magic they allowed until a point. Necromancy is a forbidden school completely, unless you are a member of The Unspeakables. Battle Magics are fine until you use threatening magic to the ministry, unless you are a siege wizard; leashed to the government with a noose already strung.

The illusions he could cast were considered dark, for he could use them to hide. The divinations he used are dark, for they could find that which the ministry wanted hidden. The necromancy that coursed to his being was dark for the sake of its being; and to say the rituals he could and had performed.

If they knew about Alistair, he would not go to Azkaban, he would immediately be executed.

If they knew about her, he would be torn asunder by The Unspeakables.

Laying low was the best option for a person in his position.

But Albert had called him a boy.

He would learn to channel a new card.

Justice.


	20. Act Two Chapter Two: The Moon II

Act Two Chapter Two: The Moon II

**Welcome back, everyone. The new update is here. I think I will be doing shorter chapters from now on rather than 5,000 like in my middle chapters instead in the mid 3,000 range. If you guys want, I could go back to 5K but I am not sure how much longer that would take. **

**This chapter was odd as it came out to be over 22 pages in word (spacing between paragraphs) but only 3k words. **

**Dialogue is weird like that. **

**Speaking of is my dialogue easy to follow?**

**In other news the finale of Fate/Stay Night was amazing and seeing it in theatres was amazing.**

**I wore a mask in an empty theatre. **

**So ya. See Fate/Stay Night Heavens Feel Spring Song if you have seen the other two.**

**If not watch UBW then the Heavens feel movies than Zero then go nuts with everything else.**

**On to reviews. **

**There is one.**

**Ob5curu5: I hope nothing I do appears from out of nowhere. If you don't understand something I need to do a better job as a writer. Thank you for loving my atmosphere, I work hard for that effect, so seeing it come out makes me feel like I did something right. **

**On to the normal spiel.**

**Please review. I do love to get those reviews; they make me feel good. As always, I need a beta, I think this chapter will show that more than most.**

**Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think!**

The High Priestess had a control of magic Harry would never match. The shadow that engraved onto the servant had knowledge the puppet he wore used. Harrys mind worked, it fought against the desire to follow, but his feet walked. His voice strained to shout, but his mouth would not open. The shadows' influence alone held him in complete control. Unable to put any resistance against it.

The voice that issued instructions was familiar.

It matched a voice he often fought, the whisper in the corner of his mind. The dark thoughts, those are which pulled him now, ever amplified by its matching commander. For the voice was never his. Always belonging to the shadow.

The servant's body deteriorated. Months of absence from performing the evil ritual culminated in a fractured being with fractured magic. Pushing forth and using that magic destroyed the body further. Every trap they waded through had him coughing blood. Each creature which blocked the path they traveled had skin falling to the floor.

The servant lived on borrowed time. The necromantic force of the shadow, the only thing tethering his withering and broken soul. He cried and begged for it to end, but the master's promise always brought him forward.

"You will be whole."

"Your curse removed."

"The world will raise a vast empire for you."

But soon the promise of power no longer sufficed, the pain was too much, no longer the selfish gain could bring him to step.

"I will kill her."

"She will be the next host."

"She is pregnant."

It was enough to get him to continue, enough to keep walking on, despite the body's resistance.

The last chamber stood as massive as The Entrance Hall.

No more traps lay between the room's entrance and the far object. Besides the single other object and the flaming braziers around, the room stood barren.

They walked, and the servant gripped at the object's cover. A familiar cloth fell to the floor.

Before Harry stood Erised. She had returned.

The gripping resistance reentered his being, the overwhelming urge to flee before she took hold again on him. His allies warning her curse.

But yet.

She was beautiful.

The shadow berated his servant; the man appeared incapable of breaking the ultimate trap, for Erised was not the shadow's goal.

How foolish he was.

Erised was greater than any other. Any mortal could not ignore her splendor. Her being was perfect.

Just being near brought warmth, comfort, familiarity. Seeing the mirror would bring the excellent memories of his mother, his father, of home.

The failures of the servant led the shadow to reprimand the man, but no threatening allowed him to complete his task.

Apparently, the shadow expected the failure. Thus, it was time to use him. For he could beat the protections placed.

"Stand before the mirror, look into it."

It spoke a command that brought resistance, the first time he had no desire to fight.

He desired only to see her.

He peered into the endless being before him, and she looked back. She did not reveal her beauty, instead, something far stranger happened.

"Hello, Harry." She spoke with the voice of a summer breeze. She kissed his cheeks, leaving behind wanting burns. "Welcome back."

The kiss welcomed him awake. The comfort of his pillow failed to draw him from his dreams, no, the sun kissing his face did that.

"I really need to shut my shades."

The Moon.

It had been three days since the Auror and Hitwizard saw fit to ruin his night. Each day he peered for the next to arrive. Maybe carrying a warrant for himself? That much never happened. The daily watchman had abandoned their post, and the nights had only blossomed because of their prolonged absence.

The first day the occupants showed caution, perhaps they had taken the necromancer's advice and sent fitter men, but everyone was a regular, each of them without ties to the public officials.

On the second night, leading to his current position, The Head acted rambunctious to an advance degree. The room laughed and joked, free of worry as the constant weight and pressure of security left them. They no longer had to watch their words for upsetting nothings. No longer did the constant threat of an improper arrest hold them down. They smiled and laughed and shared stories, to the point that even Ariana watched on with bright eyes, the flowers of her field forgotten.

The werewolf spoke of before. A family which he lost, a son, a daughter, a wife. He told the tales of their happiness, and of him being forced away.

Why did people hate werewolves, if only they knew how much they hated themselves?

He spoke quiet words with the vampire who feasted on Germans only. The power dynamic between them always stood, though Henri hoped he would forget it.

Turned in Germany by a German, his first taste had been German.

He hated them, for they failed to protect him, and then failed to keep him around.

Vampirism was illegal in Germany, to the sentence of death; Death being staked to the bottom of the Mummelsee and burned by the gradual rising sun.

He pitied the once woodcarver, only a century ago he crafted beautiful statues, now he lived in fear of them. His old devotion had turned into his death. Even in his unlife, he desired for goodness, but the darkness ever suggested otherwise. Mental lapses made people die. H could hardly contain his happiness upon meeting the necromancer, for here was a man who made him a leash. Someone who could choke the concept of evil from him.

That was also a shocking moment.

When he overcame centuries-old Occlumency in a few short minutes of conversation.

It only made the man smile.

The Moon.

His third night was not as lucky.

It started similar to the previous two; the occupants acting free of the burden that normally rested over the hall. The rambunctious nature of the customers flowing into the coffers for the store. This spending and celebration continued until an unfamiliar face entered.

Well, unfamiliar to most.

Harry plainly made out the stoic witch who strode into the celebratory room as if she owned it. Her regal face and strong shoulders pushed people back by her presence alone. Icy blue eyes scanned the room and brought her to Abe behind the counter. She approached with Auror Williamson in tow.

The room had quieted, most members too frightened to move. She had a reputation, one well-earned if previous newspapers would be believed.

"'Lo Amelia." Dumbledore greeted, a forced smile on his wrinkled face.

Amelia Bones before becoming Chief Auror was a subjugator on the battlefield. She was an efficient murderer who eliminated many when she battled in the war against The Dark Lord. Voldemort, that was the name he called himself back then. The boy named Tom would become Voldemort, so the shadow had told him.

Amelia was a destroyer of lives; she took and took with little regard for the circumstance of what she fought.

Her capture rate for humans on the other hand was perfect. It was by her wand that the members of Azkaban without Moody's name belonged to her. The things called dark creatures never had that luck. She wielded light magic very well, her pure nature allowing the light of the world to shine through her wand. Harry guessed it was holly and unicorn hair.

"Back to you, Aberforth." She nodded at him. "I have come to speak with the one called Henri."

The crowd murmured, and he sank into it. Crawling into the pit to avoid any further conflict would get him out, perhaps running?

"Why do you want the kid?"

"Just some questions."

"That it?"

"If you wish I can make it formal." The command was not subtle. Comply or an arrest will occur.

"Can we go to my room?" Henri asked above the crowd, stepping out from the patrons who tried to shelter him. The resistance needed to push past was more than he could have ever hoped.

"Kid just use a private room, try 205."

"Thanks, Abe," he turned his attention to Amelia and stage whispered, "he is mad I forgot to clean my room." With a wink to Dumbledore, he led Amelia to the room in question, flicking his wrist to withdraw his yew and pushing magic into the lock, popping it open. "So, what do you wish to talk about?"

The Moon.

"You can stop that you know." For the first moment, Harry heard the man speak. The bald man wore a serious face, matching that of his companion. His brown eyes saw everything. It peaked at every corner, searching for anything unordinary. His eyes were sharp. Incredibly so.

Harry knew what they said about his eyes, you could not hide from them. They saw into your soul and penetrated any lie, feeling, emotion, or thought you had. They were correct. He could achieve all that and more by peaking with his eyes, thus his schoolmates avoided it.

All but Tracy.

He missed her. So much.

Maybe he could write.

"We know you are Harry Potter; the blonde dye is not fooling anyone." The smile left Harry's face. His eyes saw through, but this man saw everything. Movement could be seen without his focus. Details picked up no matter the size. If Harry saw through this man saw everything. Tells, hideaways, and cover would not aid against the Auror known as Williamson, it's a folly to try.

The balding man must be a fantastic companion for Auror Bones. The scope to her gun. He aimed her where she needed to be and let her finish the fight.

Between the two who is stronger, the fighter without sense or a sense without movement.

"Do you now?" The French façade stayed put. "How did you reach that conclusion?"

"You were not this rude before, you know. I remember how kind you were, how scared. What could have happened to you in that school to make you such a-"

"Enough Williamson." The woman paused him. His eyes still firmly on Harry despite the command. He saw something, he knew of something Harry did. Which part? All of it?

Perhaps none.

Only suspecting what befell him that night with Quirrell, from the shadow.

"Harry, you are not under any investigation right now." Williamson continued to stare, his eyes yet to blink. Harry met them, staving off the need to see. What secrets could he have, what methods made his madness possible?

"Then why are we talking?" His accent lay forgotten. Gone was Henri. Though their business was never with Henri, it always stood with Harry.

"We made this meeting with multiple goals, the first being to check up on your living situation." She began, obviously annoyed. "We were meant to meet up during the school year for these appointments, but it seems that they blocked my attempt."

"Albus and I decided it would be better if we settled the matter." He answered the question unasked.

"Albus?" Her voice cracked; Williamson narrowed his vision. "Strange to call your headmaster by his name."

"It is his name. In a personal setting like discussing my living he is Albus, in a formal setting, he is Headmaster Dumbledore. Are you not Amelia outside of Work to Auror Williamson there?" He pointed to the still focused Auror.

"No, I am not." She joined her coworker in his distasteful appearance.

"And when did you decide on using Headmaster Dumbledore over myself?"

"When I asked?"

"Harry, we only wish to help you."

"Then why are you here? I am perfectly happy right now."

"This place is not safe for you."

"Why is that?"

"There are… dark creatures who live here."

"Yes?"

"You know?"

"It's hard not to."

"And?"

"Why should it matter?"

"They are dark creatures. They have evil in their souls."

"Dark, yes; evil, no."

"Explain."

"Dark is an inclination. The push to bad desertions. But evil is an action. Evil is doing the things that the darkness pushes." Harry leaned onto his knees. "How can you call something evil before it does an evil act?"

"They are dark, it's reason enough."

"So, kill them before they are a problem?"

"Stop." Williamson interrupted their conversation. "He is looking to trap you, Director." She widened her eyes to the boy. "Stop it with the slippery slope arguments, they are dark creatures. Period. That is the end of the discussion."

"After our first meeting, I had wondered how you wound up in Slytherin. I understand now." Her surprise turned into anger. "Was it all an act?"

"No. I am always me."

She flashed papers from within her cloak. "That does not make me feel better. Well, onto the paperwork."

"Paperwork?"

"Your relocation."

"That's surprising."

"Why?"

"Why am I being relocated?"

"The ministry wishes for you to be elsewhere."

"Strange considering how the ministry has no authority for that." From the door, Albus Dumbledore entered the conversation. When it opened or how long he stood there was a mystery.

"Chief Warlock."

"Hello, Amelia. And you, John. Thank you for not ruining my entrance." The headmaster winked while putting a finger up to his mouth. Amelia directed her irate expression to the new man rather than Harry.

"Professor."

"Headmaster."

"So," he waved his old wand and pulled a chair from the aether, "what is this I hear about my ward being relocated?"

"When the ministry learned of his employment here, they knew they needed to step in. Really, Head-" She caught herself. "Chief Warlock, Aberforth. You could not have chosen a worse guardian."

"Amelia, you wound me. My brother would make a great guardian."

"Yet he failed to apply to watch the boy. A blunder on your part. Now within the week, the Ministry will become his guardian."

"But we will be putting an application in."

"Sorry, our office is a little backed up now. I don't think it will clear the channels in time, sorry." Her anger developed into a smug pose of victory.

"Luckily, France does not have such a problem."

"What?"

"Well, young Harry is being adopted by a French native. He is only staying with Aberforth on a temporary."

"But-"

"In fact, I think his paperwork will be done early. So early that you need to pack Harry. Two days and off to France you go."

"But the paperwork."

"I fear that its value is in kindling now. Sorry, Amelia. Can I show you out? I need to speak with a certain young man about treating his elders and authorities with respect."

The Moon.

"Do you listen when I talk or is it just white noise?" Harry opened his mouth to reply, "Do not make a comment about my beard." He sighed into a slouch. "I am disappointed in you, Harry." He pinched the bridge of his nose as his brow wrinkled.

"I am sorry, Albus." And he was. The rush to the building had most likely been very inconvenient and his other work was picking up again. This week Supreme Mugwump, next Chief Warlock. They flip through the remaining days of summer. International travel is difficult on the body, worse as you age.

"I know Harry. I know." He paused and looked Harry over. "What made you react so?"

"The Auror. He called me boy, in the same tone he used too." Harry stated. "I remembered being afraid. Afraid of my weakness, of being alone. Then I remember what she told me. How I was strong. How I was powerful. How I will change the world." He smiled and peered out the window, sharing the same view he would see from his normal room above. "Being Henri, I felt that. Perhaps walking in his shoes for so many uninterrupted days was a mistake. But I knew that I could put him in his place. Wipe that smirk from his face. His insults to the kind people who did not deserve his ire could end his tyranny."

A hint of worry crossed the aged professor's face. "Has she spoken to you again?"

A hint of melancholy responded to his question. "No." He stared through the window as the summer night had begun. "But I did dream again."

"The future."

"The past. The future is difficult. The past is already set. It wanders where it does not need to be."

The headmaster's worry changed. The question of a smile approached.

"Who did you see?"

"Hm." Was the professor's response.

"Last night you saw the past. Was it him or her?"

"Ariana."

"Was it good?"

"Until the end."

"And?"

"I still do not know."

A silence followed. Comfort did not define it, nor by the lack of. It merely was.

"Two days?" The silence broke. Uncertainty. Pain. Hope. All of them bleed into his voice.

"Yes. He will be here in two days."

The Moon.

Alastair was interested.

The small devil bothered Harry before he could try to sleep. The day had been long and mentally straining, and all he wished was to sleep.

His familiar had other ideas.

"C'mon. If you had just told me then you could sleep already." The time had turned past three, and the toad had moved from his head to his chest and back again. "You know you want to."

"But at this point, I can't, just to send a message to your inconvenient arse."

"Harry. Pal. Just tell me." The smooth voice tried to influence his mind.

"How about no, Alastair? I am too tired for this."

"Awe is baby Potter cranky."

"I will cage you."

"Promise." The infernal grin grew evermore.

Harry flicked the creatures' nose.

"Ow."

"If you say it, can you try to mean it?"

"I'm offended that you think that did not hurt."

"And I'm offended by your acting. Two stars. Would not see it again."

"Wow, Harry. Next time just stick a guy where it really hurts."

"Go to sleep, Alastair."

"Goodnight, Harry."

As he turned, he heard the shades open and the window crack. Where the toad once stood a bat crawled instead. Spreading its wings, it leapt from the window and into the warm air.

"Damnit, Alistair. Shut the Shades."

The haunting laughter fell into the now illuminated room.

The Moon.

_Hey Tracy,_

_Long time, no talk._

_I had lots of fun with you last year and hope to spend time with you this year as well._

_I have good news. I will have a new home as of tomorrow. My guardian is a really nice man, and I hope you get to meet him someday. May perhaps we go shopping for supplies when the list is delivered. If not, I understand. I hope to see you again._

_Regards,_

_Harry Potter_

The Moon.

"So, kid. This is it, eh?" The gruff voice of Aberforth spoke in the uncrowded hall. The normal denizens who spent the nights here lorded over their specific tables reading the sewage that The Daily Prophet spewed.

"Looks that way." He sat on his tightly packed trunk. Alastair perched on his shoulder as the triplet sat in silence.

"You are a good kid. You know that right?"

His toad choked back a laugh, earing a confusing stare from Martin across the hall.

Harry stood back with a blank expression. "How Abe. I am directly responsible for four deaths. I have a higher kill count than the Cannons have won in that time period."

"Losing Smidt did hurt them." The grandfatherly man chuckled.

"I am serious, Abe."

"As am I, Harry. You have had it ruff. But you are still a good kid. I wish upon you all the kindness I can offer."

"Thank you, Abe. Really."

"Any time, Harry. Though. I retrieved something more than kindness." He reached behind the counter and grabbed a piece of wrapped cloth just over half a meter long. As Harry unwrapped it Dumbledore told the tale. "It was my father's see. He always enjoyed practicing with it. Brilliant man he was, said it really helped his wand work too."

Harry finally unveiled the package. A dagger with a handle long as the sheath. "He got it from a friend of his who won it from a goblin. How he never managed to say." The base of the blade was thick, and the dagger quickly pointed. A crusader knife? "Draw it."

He did. The blade pulled with ease from its sheath. The blade failed to taper as he overdrew the length of leather. From his shoulder, Alastair hissed and jumped away as if stung. The toad retreated behind the bar. Harry pulled until an arming sword came from the small sheath. "That was my fathers' contribution. The enchantment on there. It cleans the blade as it enters and makes it more manageable for travel."

"Abe."

"Kid, I have no use for a sword. Never did. That there will help you where you are going."

"You mean France?"

"Oh, he didn't tell you. Then I guess it will be a surprise."

The door opened.

The Moon.


	21. Act Two Chapter Three: The Moon III

**Act Two Chapter Three: The Moon III**

**Hello again,**

**First off. Happy Christmas Everyone. Did I time this chapter to be released today? Well, when I saw what day it was yesterday I wrote the last thousand words and edited this chapter for my present to all of you. **

**Next, if someone thinks I am talking about my thoughts on a certain country in this chapter I am not. I do not wish to talk politics on the web. Next, I have Harry make a comment. He will never be a blood supremacist. But, he is a child who spent a lot of time with people who feel that way. He is impressionable. **

**To go back to the dialogue being weird this chapter despite being longer in word count also is six pages shorter than the last one. **

**Review time.**

**Astolfo83**

**Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy what I write in the future as much as what you have read. I will continue! Forever until I die. **

**(Astolfo is best girl and that's the best part)**

**Urgazhi**

**I am glad you like what I am writing. Many people remark about my good use of things like atmosphere and emotion, this makes me very proud as a writer. **

**To the Blacks, well the next school year has not yet begun. It is resolved before then. Act Two is the entire summer before the second year. Act Three is Second Year. Act Four is all of Third Year and Act Five is Fourth Year. Then the next book will be posted. **

**For Daphne, well that is for Act Three. **

**Tracy will be resolved at the end of Act Two. **

**I hinted at how he passed, but I will be straight forward now. He failed every class's but got A's because of how little practical work actually counts in first year. He was pushed up like a child in no-child-left-behind. **

**Thanks for reading, hopefully, this matches the standard I have set. **

**On to the normal spiel.**

**Please review. I do love to get those reviews; they make me feel good. As always, I need a beta. Who has read this the longest? I remember the days when I saw ten people read my story in one day and went, WOW. I still remember how awesome that first review was, all ten months ago. **

**Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think!**

The man who strode through the doors appeared shy of middle age. He adorned a crisp robe of pale white with blue gloved hands. His grey eyes weighed heavy as they scanned over the room, growing upon seeing the child stood by the bar owner's side.

"Henri," his jovial voice lept over the morning patrons mussing. Quick steps crossed the distance between as he sized the young boy up from an arm's length away.

"Harry, actually. I failed to keep up my little act around a week ago." Harry blushed.

"Is that so? Well, no harm no foul." He turned his attention to Abe. "Thank you for keeping him out of trouble."

"Trouble is that kid's middle name. No amount of my 'keeping' would stop it." The adults laughed at the expense of the small child. "Look out for him, OK?"

"You got it, boss." He gave a thumb up motion and waved for Harry to follow him out the door. Alistair leapt from the counter to land softly upon Harry's shoulder as his arm pulled the trunk behind him. As they stepped into the morning, the sun kissed Harry's smiling face.

Once again, a bright change was met on The Sun.

The streets of Hogsmeade failed to produce much life. As the early morning progressed, the denizens of the town stayed in their quiet homes as life did not begin until they served lunch. It came down to the simple fact that wizards were a lazy bunch. When they wished to grab, they used Accio, when they needed water, they used Aguamenti. They lacked the refinement of effort into the small parts of life, simpler to wand wave cares away.

An option never in his reach.

His magic was wounded from the start. The malice of darkness tainted it, so the common spells most used were unaffordable to himself. He could push the magic through, only to bleed the channels it passed. His circuits were composed for pushing magma through. The cold flow of water cracks them and annihilates them.

Alastair had repaired the initial damage forcing the improper magic through his veins had caused, working in tandem with the man striding on his left without the old man's knowledge. Harry knew he suspected, but whether or not he knew was a different matter.

"What's the plan." Harry broke the silence that currently blanketed the street. The walk lasted half an hour as they moved further from The Hog's Head and closer to the populated side of town.

The way they set the township up relied almost entirely on the Hogwarts Express. That and the shoppers that frequented Hogsmeade Village. With that being accounted for, the town split into three distinct districts. The shopping, storage, and residential. Shops like The Three Broomsticks or Melisandre's Necessities, the appealing sorts, were nearest to the station while the less popular shops were further removed and closer to the residential. The three-ring pie was miss cut, however, with the storage distract being larger but sharing less edge space with the other districts. Tucked back there was his former stay, The Hog's Head.

Normal folks living within the housing district did not view frequenters of The Head well. Neither would those who traversed the popular shopping district. As a result, Abe's pride and joy stood tucked between a food storage unit and a hardware company.

New customers were a rare find. The Head evolved into somewhere you only frequented if you knew someone already there.

Poor advertising Abe, poor advertising.

Much like his bar, his personality could use a coat of paint.

"We are going to the ministry for an international portkey." The elder spoke with practiced speech. His rich baritone carried through the street over the sounds of doors being opened and staged benches being set. Twenty minutes until the first train arrives.

The Hogwarts Express was strange in that respect. A trip that took hours for the children attending its namesake could travel the distance in only one. Why would the station choose to limit its gold flow for such a frivolous purpose of transporting children?

The only thing worse lived in the shadow of Hogwarts.

Hogsmeade Public.

A school, which the government paid for, attended students who could not afford a prestigious school like Hogwarts. Some families sent their children to Hogsmeade Public from as far as London. Subjecting the children to an hour-long ride upon a train named after a school they could never dream of attending.

Harry saw how someone like Weasley was teased in the halls for his monetary situation, but they had no clue. Living in Hogwarts left him blind to the truth of the world. At Hogwarts, he was the one percent.

Harry lived with rags and hunger. Starvation and misery. He assumed when he entered this world it would be the same. He would be the bottom ring of society. To claw for every scrap he could. He still heard the complaints of Weasley, of how poor he was. How sad his life was.

It was pathetic.

The one's exiting the train weeks after the Hogwarts students had left were the ones deserving to complain. They walked in the shadow of a school that lived in a castle. Near one of the premier education centers worldwide only to attend a brick building that appeared closer to a prison. The truth in the society he lived in was simple; those with employment received something few others did, galleons. The problem with magic was how it broke the society it was placed in. Magic could easily solve jobs necessary in the muggle equivalent with elementary education. Products that were required on that half were redundant on the magical half. Cleaning solution: have you tried Scourgify? Little did Harry notice, at first, that this problem worked in reverse. No one needed the cleaning solution, thus no one bought any. This meant no one needed to make it. But also the bottle. The resources needed to build it were unnecessary, and thus they did not have jobs.

The end result of this broken society was a dual-class system. The top fifty percent who worked.

With the bottom fifty struggling to live.

Why then did the children disembarking from The Hogwarts Express appear so happy? As they walked to school with book heavied satchels, they bore no ill will to the towering fortress behind them. Did they not understand the horrible system they lived in? A broken system pushing them down. Where the right connections let you live in society's top? Where people complained about the poorness they had when in reality they lived like a king compared to the regular populates?

No, they smiled because they made peace with it. This is how it was. Magic society promised that anyone could be anyone.

Harry remembered The Leaky Cauldron, his first instance there, which felt like a lifetime ago.

"Those filthy Mudbloods are taking all the jobs."

How wrong was it of Harry, that he agreed?

The Moon.

He now understood why the trip to Hogwarts lasted hours, and why many of the current compartments had shades closed. Traveling through warped space made one nauseous to watch the flow of bent land roll under their feet.

Nic was passing the time with a book written in English. A muggle text about quantum physics. Written by Edward Teller.

The compartment continued its silent journey through the station and out into London proper.

The Moon.

Kings Cross station bustled with energy as the pair maneuvered the mid-day crowds. The station did not reach the compact levels of the morning commute nor the evening, but a steady stream of people moved between platforms of the old building.

And Nic blended in too well.

The man walked, not fast nor slow. He flowed from place to place as naturally as water striding perfect steps. Harry kept an eye trained on him at every moment as he slithered through people without stopping or bumping anyone with a blank expression. As they stepped, the crowds dissipated. The tile gave way to paving as they marched south from the trains. A small sound echoed over the land that none paid mind to.

For the first occasion in his eleven years, he saw constructs of muggle design that rivaled wizards. They passed a shopping distract larger than Diagon Ally, and on the other side of the river stood a humongous wheel. The waters reflecting the steel back to the crowds below it. On his side, the clock stood. The gigantic beast watched over London as if a giant eye atop a tower, its ever-watchful gaze keeping the town safe from harm. The longer they walked, the larger it grew, towering over the people who carelessly walked below.

"It's huge," Harry whispered causing the chaperone to turn his attention back to the boy, brief shock glancing on his face to turn into a grin.

"It really is." He smiled with a perfect set of teeth displaying. Harry responded with a rumbling stomach. A slight blush brandishing his features. With an overdone huff, the man gestured his hands wildly, "Didn't he feed you?"

With another grumble Harry kicked a bit of trash at his feet, "He may have forgot. We were a little busy."

"Then we will have to get food soon, can it wait for the portkey?"

"It can wait for the new year." Nic smiled again, rippling a slight chuckle.

"Alright, our stop is this toilet."

"I do not consent."

"I question how you'd even think that." He deadpanned back.

"I always tell Albus I am mature for my age."

"Well, compared to Albus you are as old as I am, maturity wise." He stopped and watched people pass by. "The other option was a telephone booth, but the walk there was much less," he stopped to watch Big Ben let out a loud chime as the hour passed, "magical." He sounded as it passed, a brilliant light hanging in his eye.

The Moon.

For a bathroom it smelled fresh, unlike a sewer and more akin to a sanitary room. An aura of cleanness resonated in the room. This fit within the disguise, for the bathroom instead was a hidden place for wizards, an entrance to the main ministry building. Stepping up to the low to the ground toilet, he pulled the long chain.

Vertigo.

The sensation of standing over and watching the drop. He bared himself over the ledge as the world gave way around him, nonexistent wind tickled his ears as he sensed moving down. Like an elevator in freefall, his stomach turned and twisted, threatening to wrench up acid. Perched on his shoulder, his devil laughed at the sensation as the flow of magic guided their path.

The feeling was so different from that of his teleportation, less invasive or harmful. Yet still, the pressure fed into his core, the unfamiliar magic traveling paths it was not meant to go. He pushed it from his wanting circuits, preventing the fire of pain that would have followed the traffic, fighting to keep ridged he pushed his own through.

Nic was standing feet away as they looked upon the blue stone all around.

The atrium mirrored King's Cross as he witnessed it earlier. Given the size of Hogwarts, he assumed the population of the wizarding world mirrored the small school. Knowing Hogsmeade was the largest wizarding town in the entirety of Briton only helped that, seeing its smallness.

Then he remembered important facts that before slipped his mind.

1\. Hogwarts was a premier private institution.

2\. Hogsmeade was the largest only wizarding settlement, twenty times its number lived in London alone.

The crowds shuffled the mono-color walls as many traversed to the long line of Floo station's stretching past his event horizon. With the drop of coinage, a handful of powder would drop from the vase, allowing them to travel home for lunch.

His stomach growled again.

The urchin upon his shoulder tensed its muscles and Harry's hand jetted out before words could be uttered, "Not in public." Harry's toad croaked in response. The walk through the lobby was much like the one above ground, the pair swerving through the faceless masses with Harry's trunk dragging behind. Above owls flew clutching letters in their talons and passing through small nooks carved many feet above.

In the center of the atrium, a magnificent fountain stood, taller than a house stood a golden wizard clutching a grooved wand and holding it high for all to see. A cascade of crystal-clear water flew to the ceiling above before crashing back into the large pool below. Growing closer saw other statues emerge, smaller than the wizard and staring at it in wonder. Other sentient life each lofted around the wizard as goblin, centaur, house-elf, and more he could not name stared at the wizard with hope in their golden fake eyes.

The statue showed lies.

No goblin looked at a wizard like that. A centaur standing below one? An impossibility, they only peer into the heavens with such longing. Passing the statue showed a witch mirroring her companion dressed in a smug smile.

Was it right to subject those below you? Those with less power?

The Moon.

The portkey room lived within sub hall on the sixth sublevel of The Ministry of Magic. He thought back to class; should he be using a portkey. They were dangerous, what if what happened with apperation occurred here as well? Nic did the talking, and the pair passed into the small room titled France. Alone, they waited until a woman joined. She was plump with black hair with a shade of violet, a stunning color he had never seen.

"These modifications to the coordinates check out." She said in a disbelieving tone.

"Why would they not?" Nic responded.

"Just that coordinate puts you at the gates of…"

"Well, walking there now would be difficult."

"Fine," grabbing her wand, she cast a series of spells. Minutes passed as her eyes forced more concentration into her casting before finishing the chant with the word 'portus.'

"Thanks ma'am," Harry called as she was leaving the room.

"You are very welcome, young man, now have fun in France."

"Will do."

A fireplace he had forgotten spat a green color, letting Nic and him know to grab the unassuming rope before them.

The world spun.

Much like the toilets, his view shifted while the pair stayed in the same localized space. No floor to stand on had them free-falling into the shifting void. Colors flashed and the only sound was the ever-constant rush of wind as the kaleidoscope constructed and destroyed itself around them. After an eternity, which saw a fraction of time, the rope stopped and Harry laid on the ground, a thumping headache crushing his skull.

It was green, the soft grass which tickled his nose. After rolling over the clear blue sky let itself be known as the rushing spinning faded.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Nic filled his vision, his white robes like a cloud above him.

"I will be. Does the world ever stop spinning?"

On his left, a cough made itself known. A small red creature the size of a hand curled on itself, wings covering it like a veiny leathery shell. "Thanks for the warning, old man." The scorpion tail strained as the creature stood extending its wings and revealing its horn crowned head.

"I did not expect the easy trip to sicken a demon."

"Devil, old man."

"Yes yes. Whatever you are, you are not… legal, to keep, so be a toad you vermin."

"Die already, old man, so I can take your soul." He shifted into the familiar form he wore, the red eyes haunting as he stared into Harry's new guardian's.

"Ok, I am up." With a slight kick, he made it so. Turning to look at the gargantuan gates before him. The slotted fence allowed one to see the villa beyond, a four-story mansion of white and blue with windows covering more than siding. Acers of guardians stood between the gate and the building as several robed individuals strolled through the flours, usually being a boy and girl.

From his pocket, Nic drew a key. Waving it before the gate let it silently slide open, allowing the two to enter. After passing through the guardian and through the Entrance Hall, it greeted Harry with a familiar sight. The same round tables, open windows, and bird call all crashed into his mind. The pain of death, the warmth of her skin, and the mindless chatter filled him with Déjà vu.

"Scourgify."

Nic cleared the ground at his feet of the bile he spewed. A slight nod to Nic let him know he was alright as Harry fought the personality of Henri. From a front table, a large woman stood. Walking up to the duo, she opened her frame to invite Nic into a hug. Nearly doubling Harry's height, she leaned for it.

"Olympe."

"Master Flamel. It is an honor to have you back in our halls." Around her students whispered, a brilliant light of wonder filled them as they pointed to the man. "And Mister Potter as well, I am Madame Maxime, the Headmistress of this hollowed school. It is our pleasure to host you this day." She bowed to him as a flush entered his face. The whispers grew heavier, causing his control to falter.

The-boy-who-lived. Every eye housed the name. The name that belonged to him alone. A name bestowed by Tom in his failed attempt at murder all those years ago. He hated it. The constant reminder of his unknown family. He hated them for parroting it, believing in a false hope he provided.

"Thank you, Headmistress, for your hospitality. I am so famished and would love some lunch." He smiled, Nic knew it was fake. Nic wished for him to establish control before he would break eye contact. He left willingly.

The Moon.

He sat next to a blonde man. His face stone in a twist of displeasure. He emanated hatred in a way only Snape could rival. Why did the man hate? What was the start of his discord? Following his eyes led Harry to a sight he wished not to see. A blonde from Henri's memories. Her sight alone gave a slight coughing fit, the feeling of moisture collapsing into his lungs.

He ignored her in favor of lunch, an impressive-looking thing to be sure. Rather than the assortment of Hogwarts, each student here ate one dish which was individually prepared, no choice but to eat what it was. Today was the aptly named _rooster in wine_. The course tasted well enough and had plenty of flavors. But compared to a simple stew or fish and chips, it failed to compete. Harry carefully matched Nic's movements, not striving forth with each portion of his meal until the old man did.

Nic was a very deliberate man, he also took his time.

He spoke in hushed tones to the Headmistress, speaking of accessing the library. When the important details had been settled, the Headmistress spoke to Harry. Not needing to turn or wrap around Nic to succeed, Harry looked into her large eyes. Her eyes were a soft brown, like the grassless earth days after a hard ran, soft and inviting.

"You must be quite the young man to catch ol' Flamel's attention." She spoke in well-practiced English.

Scratching the back of his head, Harry curtly responded, courtesy to courtesy, in her home tongue, "I would not say that. I think you could best call me a failure of magic." He let out a small chuckle. Make her comfortable. Jokes do that. Right, Tracy?

"Non," She had a smile on her face realizing the joke.

The only true joke was how he did not lie.

"And what does Master Dumbledore have you study?"

As Harry opened to respond, a fork full of chicken pushed itself into his mouth. With wide eyes, he store at his guardian. Gripping the chunk between his teeth, the man pulled out the fork to use as a weapon against the Headmistress, thwapping her on her forehead. Pointing the weapon at her, he chided her, "No using students for information." The giant crossed her arms and, pouted. She attempted a similar pose to Tracy when in the common room Daphne did not share chocolate.

A strange look on someone over eight feet tall.

"I am sorry, Mister Potter." She spoke to him again. Her pout ending much sooner than Tracy's would have. And without the victory. He waved her off.

"No problem, Headmistress. I wasn't going to share, anyway." He glared at Nic. He was going to say something. That infuriated him more. The victory in the elder's eyes told Harry he knew.

"I have duties I must attend, please swing by my office when you leave. You can use my Floo for your upcoming travel." She bowed to the elder wearing a young face, then back to Harry. "Please come again, Mister Potter, hopefully with more time to speak." With little fanfare, she left.

He failed to reply to her when she left, holding nothing but a blush.

"Come, we are going to the library." He aged; he was becoming tired.

He followed. Ignoring the stares of the masses as the legends departed. He never glanced back at The Flower. After leaving the doors, an explosion of sound occurred.

As they walked the beautiful halls, he thought back to what Olympe had said. Why did Nic take him? The immortal had lived a lengthy life, so why Harry. To name him his child in the eyes of law.

He was just Harry.

The Moon.

Nic worked his way into the forbidden section of the library. He walked with a pouch which ate book after book that the man skimmed. Harry was not allowed within. Harry being an outsider, even accompanied by someone as prestigious as Nic, was prohibited from the mountainous realm of forbidden books. Instead, he was stuck in the general area.

He chose a book a few years beyond his capability. A magic theory text on the ways to use magic. It explained the reasoning for Latin and other older languages for spell casting. They were constructed in a time that humanity was closer to magic, where it flowed easier. When humans were better than today.

Something happened. Something caused the ancient world's malfunction, for the separation of human and magic to occur, a break. What it was, Harry did not know. Maybe he should speak to Professor Binns in the following school year? Perhaps he even solved his problem with the spirits.

Further in it spoke of how one used runes in casting and creation. Intent mixed with concrete symbols, expressionism mixed with orthodox constructs.

The circle he drew. His blood dripping from his mangled arm. He drew the symbols, those of Greek and Egyptian he knew, but the other foreign ones he only drew with a name. Harry wanted Alastair back, his friend, his savior. He needed Alastair back. The thought brought him to a dream in a tower. A face he could not recall, but the words rang from his lips, reading the line from his text he could never understand.

Within the circle, the toad burst. From within the gore, something emerged. Something sinister with glowing red eyes. "Do not worry, Harry. I am here for you. I will save you." It overtook him with blackness.

Harry blinked back the memory. He did not need to remanence while learning, it would be counterproductive. He tried rubbing the sleep from his eyes to refocus, but his mind wandered too far to accomplish the feat.

"Oh, I am glad you are still alive." A musical sound reached his ears. It tried to ease him, but unlike Fawkes, it could not succeed. Its power lagged behind the bird. "You stared at that page for so long I expected it to erupt in flames." She spoke in English, though not well. Her accent overwrote many of her words, and she flipped into French to speak many of the verbs. She ended her statement with a wholehearted laugh.

She was similar to Fawkes. Her form being made of positive energy. Looking at her showed only beauty. She was young and mature, with fine features, pointed cheeks, and a slim nose. Her eyes appeared a bit large and the tips of her ears elongated slightly.

Her energy hated him, however. Being near burned at him, the flow of her magic crawling into his body, starting where he sent most of his magic in practice.

His eyes.

Her magic burned him; the pathways rejected her magic. But, unlike the magic he fought against the Headmaster for, this foreign obstruction hurt. He shut his eyes, but the energy instead attacked below his skin, against the lines that had been purged of unkind magic before.

He forced it out. Unlocking the damn which suppressed, he flooded his body, purging the unknown magic and filling the spaces with his own. Opening his eyes had his mistake too soon revealed.

He overloaded his body with his magic, letting it out for the world to see.

And he flooded his eyes with magic and only knew one output.

He forced his way into the mind of Fleur Delacour's shaking form. Seeing within the eyes holding fresh tears.

The Moon.


End file.
